


You Are Still (Not) Free

by fencer_x



Series: The One That's a Pacific Rim AU [3]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Children, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 17:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 72,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14313729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: Fifteen months after the Precursors wiped out their own Kaiju army, they’ve rebuilt and are back with a vengeance. But between children’s birthday parties and old acquaintances breezing back into their lives, Haruka and Rin may find themselves welcoming the distraction of hulking monsters on their doorstep.





	1. Chapter 1

“Excited, Haru-chan?”

Haruka flicked a glance off to the side, gazing down the empty corridor and avoiding the hopeful stare Makoto had him fixed with as they waited for him to unlock his office; it was a rhetorical question, and Haruka wasn’t going to dignify it with a response—nor had he the energy to remind Makoto once again to stop calling him _Haru-chan_. Instead, he just sniffed and urged, “Hurry up with the lock; the cake won’t hold for long outside unrefrigerated, and we don’t have anywhere to store it.” He rustled the plastic bag hanging from his grip for show, but Makoto just nodded, grin only widening as he swiped his card over the reader and listened for the _swick_ of the lock disengaging.

“She’s never had cake, has she?”

Haruka processed this thought for a moment, distracted—he hadn’t considered it before, but no. This was going to be an evening of several firsts, it seemed. “…Never had reason, I guess.” Would she not like it? He’d gone with a milder spice cake rather than something overly sweet, out of consideration for Rin’s palate—but then, Rin wasn’t the one celebrating a birthday today. Gou was.

Her first one—one year, now, since they’d had their already tumultuous lives knocked further out of balance by having to care for a _child_ , as if they hadn’t had enough problems to deal with _without_ playing catch-up on child rearing and navigating the finer points of dealing with an infant that aged five times as fast as a normal baby, leaving her babbling their names with coherency mere months after being released from the gestation unit she’d matured in—jury-rigged from a Pons unit. Which, it was kind of fitting, Haruka supposed, that she’d been born of both kaiju and human and _Jaeger_ , each contributing to her development in different and equally vital ways.

Something bumped against his arm as Makoto elbowed him, brows lifting as he pressed down on the handle to let them inside. “Better not let any of your cadets catch you wearing that expression; you’ll never be able to work them back under your thumb.”

Haruka quickly schooled his features—he didn’t know what ‘that expression’ was, but it didn’t sound good, and given the fond, nigh sentimental thoughts he’d been entertaining, he could guess well enough what he’d looked like. Makoto flipped the light switch on, bathing the small office in a pool of soft yellow light, and Haruka glanced around, wrinkling his nose at the cramped, cluttered space. “The promotion didn’t come with bigger quarters?” he questioned, eager to change the subject.

Makoto shook his head. “The Marshal offered, but I don’t spend enough time down here for it to matter; let someone else who actually needs the space take advantage.” He shifted a stack of folders sitting on the floor around with the toe of the loafers he wore, carefully stepping over them to grab the twine handles of a paper gift bag. He shook it for show, marking how heavy it was. “It’s not much—but you mentioned she’s been devouring books lately, so I thought maybe she’d appreciate something a little more age-appropriate. Or…well, _developmental level_ -appropriate.”

Haruka reached out and took the bag, glancing inside to find a few slender hard-backs with colorful covers hidden among crushed up sheets of tissue paper. It was a thoughtful gift—and Haruka felt his chest lighten, touched by the gesture.

He’d initially been apprehensive about finally sharing the ability to read with her, rather than going about the process the old-fashioned way; they could give her so much, give her _everything_ they knew, and she clearly craved it—but…something stuck, didn’t feel quite _right_. Children appreciated knowledge all the more so when they had to _work_ for it, and part of growing up was struggling to overcome challenges. If they kept giving and giving and giving like this, spoiling her with knowledge and understanding, she’d never be able to appreciate the value of having to _work_ to comprehend. It would all be right there, in the Collective, for her to assimilate.

But then Rin had reminded, all bitter smiles, that _She’s gonna have enough trouble coping with all the shit she’s six-foot deep in—it’s nice knowing she’ll have an easier time with the little things._ And he had a point, Haruka understood; so he’d allowed it, because she’d been born in the middle of a war to parents who’d put her diapers on backwards for the first two weeks with a genetic makeup she had to be coached on lest she spill something she shouldn’t, and no kid deserved that. Not before their first birthday, at least.

He ducked a nod of thanks, clutching the gift close as he tightened his grip on the plastic bag holding the little cake at his side. “I’ll let you know what she thinks.”

Glancing down at the floor again, he heard the smile in Makoto’s voice rather than saw it. “I’d like to hear. And I’m sure I can scrounge up some more when she gets done with them. Ren and Ran are too old for children’s books now, so there’s probably a whole library sitting in my parents’ storage closet collecting dust.”

Haruka called up an image of the twins in his mind—it’d been years since he’d seen them, and he opened his mouth to ask after them, not because it was polite, but because he was genuinely curious, until Makoto reminded, “Hadn’t you better hurry? If you can’t chill the cake, you’ll need to eat it as quickly as possible, right?”

Grateful for the out, Haruka nodded and adjusted his grip on the bags—the cake hanging from one hand, Makoto’s gift from the other. He hesitated at the door, fingers loosely gripping the handle, and he glanced over his shoulder. “…You’re sure you can’t come?”

Makoto flopped down into his high-backed swivel chair, smiling benignly. “She’ll have plenty more. You enjoy this one just the three of you.” Not _I can’t come_ —just _I won’t_ , and while he appreciated the sentimentality, it still felt uncomfortably like he was being catered to. If Makoto wanted to be there, he ought to be, shouldn’t he?

But he didn’t have the time to argue, with a cake melting fondant in one hand and a bag heavy with Dr. Seuss stories in the other, and Makoto knew this, so he frowned at the shooing gesture Makoto dismissed him with and turned on his heel, marching back into the corridor and leaving Makoto to whatever business kept him occupied at 6:30 on a Saturday evening.

Glancing down at his watch, he noted that Rin would have relieved Amakata-sensei of impromptu baby-sitting duties by now. It was laughable, when he stopped to think about it—the top K-Science researcher in Japan, being charged with looking after a precocious toddler in between running gels and monitoring cell cultures—but given the pitifully short list of people they could entrust Gou’s care to, it was indeed taking a whole village (or well, a Shatterdome) just to raise this child.

They couldn’t enroll her in the Shatterdome daycare where other officers and the occasional cadet had their own children watched while they were on duty—it might work for a month, maybe two, but soon people would start to notice she was looking _awfully_ older than when she’d first started, and maybe they’d ask questions. Maybe they’d want to know who her father was—or worse, her mother. Maybe she’d forget herself, or not realize she wasn’t supposed to discuss something, and spoil their carefully laid plans for keeping her very existence as hush-hush as possible.

It helped some that Amakata-sensei didn’t seem to mind the company, praising Gou’s sharp mind and polite manner, but Haruka still felt keenly that…Gou was _theirs_. That they’d committed themselves to trying to help this child be born in the first place, and now they owed it to her to try and give her as “normal” a life as possible.

But they were in the middle of a war; Haruka had responsibilities as Fightmaster, and Rin had his own duties newly thrust upon him by the Marshal, clearly intent on taking advantage of everything Rin could offer the PPDC. Particularly now—fifteen months after the Precursors had wiped out their own army—with the Kaiju on the move again.

The heavy steel door to his room eased open on its own when he drew within a few meters, and Gou stuck her head out, russet hair drawn up into a high, bobbing pony tail as she brightened in greeting. “Daddy got cake!”

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” Rin warned, voice muffled until he too poked his head out to hold the door open wider for Haruka. He flashed a toothy grin, finishing, “He might’ve picked us up some mackerel-stuffed monstrosity with ‘happy birthday’ written in strips of _nori_.”

Gou wrinkled her nose, lifting up onto her toes to try and peer inside the bag holding the cake—likely an attempt to divine if Rin was telling the truth or not. Haruka often envied him the easier time he had in keeping every idle thought from drifting into the Collective, but Gou didn’t seem to mind either way. She flicked a concerned glance up to Haruka, and he snorted softly, shaking the bag. “A spice cake, not too sweet—because someone’s a wimp and can’t handle too much sugar.”

“ _Oi_ ,” Rin started, reaching down to snatch up Makoto’s present for inspection. “This from Tachibana? What’d he get her? Hand-knit socks or something equally sappy, I bet.”

When Rin looked on the verge of unpacking the gift himself, Haruka hissed, “ _Stop_ that—it’s her present. You can find out after cake.”

Two grabby hands reached up, fists clenching. “I wanna hold my present!”

“Yes ma’am~” Rin sing-songed, passing it to her and tugging on her ponytail as she barreled back inside, and they watched her go, sharing mirrored fond expressions—it was her only physical present, after all, so they could forgive her her excitement. “So—spice cake, huh?”

“You’d better not tell me you don’t like it,” Haruka warned, tentative frown on his lips. It had been a pain and a half getting the cake shipped in from the city proper, as all they stocked in the Commissary were white cakes. He’d wanted this to be an occasion they could all enjoy together, though, so he’d put in some uncharacteristic forethought, just this once.

Rin snickered, reaching forward to relieve Haruka of his burden, and pressed a light peck to one cheek in return, slapping the other lightly with his free hand. “Then you did this all for me? _Now who’s_ a sap?”

“You, still,” Haruka reminded gruffly, brushing past him into the little apartment; being alone with Rin for extended periods of time these days, when they hadn’t had much down-time to themselves of late, was tantamount to _begging_ for an inane bout of teasing, so he ignored the huff of offense that followed him into the apartment and reminded Gou to pull three plates out of the cupboard.

They were cramped quarters, and there were still nights—more than he wanted to admit—that he missed the more spacious quarters he and Rin had shared those frantic few weeks over a year ago now. But he was glad to be back in familiar territory, in space that he could call his own—even if Rin and Gou spent nearly as much time in the room as he did.

They’d settled into a pleasant rhythm, navigating each other’s lives with perhaps not _ease_ , but managing. Gou slept most nights with Rin in their equally tiny apartment next door, her crib having been exchanged for a small hideaway bed several months ago, but they endeavored to share meals together as often as possible, and evenings were typically spent in one apartment or the other. It wasn’t ideal, but they’d made it work for a year now. It was _their_ life, and Haruka supposed he ought to be happy enough to have one _period_ , let alone people to share it with.

He had his cadets, his training regimen, his occasional evening in the natatorium—and he had Rin, and now Gou. Yes, the Precursors had started a new wave of attacks in recent months, their Kaiju ranks apparently having been replenished since he and Rin had forced them to wipe out their army or risk infection with the virus that was human sentience and will, and yes, they couldn’t have family outings or see Gou off to school in the morning or plan birthday parties for twenty raucous children that they’d regret inviting like a normal family. It wasn’t perfect, not anywhere _near_ it, but in all honesty, he’d never felt more content, so at ease.

Which of course meant it couldn’t last; but that was for the Marshal and other ranking officers and Rangers to deal with. He’d continue sending cadets back to their barracks with tatami mat imprints on their faces and making them rethink joining the PPDC—that was _his_ job, and all he needed to focus on. He liked it when his duties were clear, his responsibilities limited and simple. His world need not extend outside this room, or not beyond the walls of the Shatterdome, for Haruka to be content. Waves only made for more difficult swimming.

By the time he made it over to the little dining room table—cramped for three, but manageable—Gou had pulled out three small plates and the silverware to match, beaming up at him proudly. “Want me to get the tea?”

“I’ll get it,” Haruka offered instead, recalling her last (failed) attempt to carry the large, heavy jug from the mini-fridge to the table. “Sit down; it’s _your_ birthday, after all.” She flushed, happy for the reminder, and climbed up into her designated seat, her legs dangling from the chair.

Rin set the cake gentle down on the table, careful not to crush it or ruin the frosting, and daintily unboxed the confection—it was a simple thing, plain white fondant over sponge cake with pale pink cherry blossoms piped onto dark-chocolate branch tendrils scattered over the walls of the sides and a fat rosette on top next to a white-chocolate plate that read _Happy Birthday Gou-chan_.

Gou released a soft _ah!_ of excitement as she took in the cake, eyes going wide and jaw dropping open into a wide grin. “It’s so pretty!” she marveled.

“Too pretty to eat?” Rin teased, already reaching for a butter knife to dish out slices, and Gou’s expression flashed hurt confusion for a moment before understanding dawned, and she grinned again, her smile all teeth like Rin’s.

“Hurry, hurry!” she urged, leaning up onto her elbows on the table before Haru gently chided her to sit back down. Her energy was infectious, though, and soon Haruka was pushing Rin along himself, albeit with a more subtle, “The icing’s going to melt if you go much slower.”

Rin just ignored him, lifting first a slice to place onto Gou’s plate, then Haruka’s and his own. She dove in without waiting for permission, and Haruka reflected morosely, “We didn’t even get to sing…”

“You _wanted_ to sing?” Rin snorted, his rough burst of air melting into a full-blown giggle. “I would’ve killed to have seen that.”

“It’s tradition,” Haruka reasoned evenly, watching Gou devour her slice in only a few large bites and start eyeing the remains of her cake for seconds. Rin complied—and Haruka wondered if she’d placed the request into his mind, or if he’d just accurately interpreted her expression. She’d done that with Haruka a few times—more so when she was younger and didn’t really understand what she was doing—and it still unsettled. He’d grown accustomed to giving _her_ knowledge, but receiving it back, as clearly as the messages delivered to his tablet? It brought back uncomfortable memories of thoughts and urges being shoved into his mind and masquerading as his own—memories he’d just as soon forget.

As if reading his mind, Rin flashed him a look of concern—and Haruka immediately felt contrite; Rin had never meant to do any of those things, not truly. He’d been an animal, cornered and desperate, and had Haruka been in his place, he might have reacted similarly. He shook his head to dispel any questions Rin might have wanted to pose, then reached across to pull Gou’s plate away, now that she seemed to have gorged herself on cake, reminding, “You’ve got your presents still, so take it easy.”

Distracted from pressing for another slice, even though she’d already eaten nearly a quarter of the cake herself, she clapped her hands together. “Mako-chan’s first, Mako-chan’s first!”

Rin rolled his eyes, muttering more for Haruka’s sake, “Can’t believe you let her call him that…”

“‘Let’ her? He was the one who suggested it.”

“That’s even worse,” he huffed, grabbing the bag by its handles and dropping it before Gou on the table as he slid the cake out of the way, safely depositing it on the little square of counter space beside the sink.

Gou ignored their easy bickering, likely now familiar with her parents’ behavior, and instead peered into the gift bag and tugged out the tissue paper to uncover her present—eyes going wide as she raked her gaze over the glossy hardcover books stuffed inside.

Rin flopped back into his chair, angling his neck to read the titles. “Books? What a nerd.” The remark sounded a bit fond, though, and it was clear from the way his eyes tracked Gou’s reaction to the gift that he approved, which settled Haruka’s nerves. He hadn’t realized he’d even been tense, worried what Rin might think of the gift, but he could see it had been pointless.

“He said to tell you there are more where those came from, so let him know when you’ve finished with them, and he’ll see about finding some more.” Her eyes didn’t move from the books, still drinking in the colorful titles and running a finger over the sturdy binding, but she nodded mutely. “And be sure to tell him ‘thank you’ next time you see him.”

Another nod, firmer this time, and she finally managed to tear her eyes away, looking directly at Haruka now. “Can he read it to me?”

Rin raised a brow. “You know how to read just fine; I imagine that’s why he gave you _books_.”

She shrugged. “I like Mako-chan’s voice. It’s nice.” And this just made Rin roll his eyes again.

“He’d probably like that,” Haruka interjected easily, smiling to himself at Rin’s overreaction; he seemed more human with each passing day, and it was truly a sight to behold, watching him shift from a secretive, wary soldier to this person, a human, still sharp and biting at the edges but with a streak of caring that ran bone deep and jealousy that showed itself in the oddest places and most inconvenient times. He’d swung the length of the pendulum, from emotionless to _overrun_ with emotion, and not for the first time, Haruka wondered where his equilibrium would eventually settle. What he’d _truly_ be like, in the end—what the human Matsuoka Rin would have been like, had he survived to adulthood.

“Who next, then?” Rin interrupted his thoughts, and Gou’s excited gasp as she realized she still had gifts yet to come brought him back to the moment. “Your pick.”

Gou made a show of considering thoughtfully before shyly flicking her gaze in Haruka’s direction, cheeks pinking as she bashfully admitted, “…Daddy.”

“ _Tsk_ , playing favorites. I should’ve figured,” Rin bit out, but his smile betrayed him, and he looked like he was holding himself back from reaching over to tug on her hair again.

She ignored his accusation, instead wiggling around to face Haruka—who eased into a stance and shifted around the table to crouch on one knee before her, holding a hand out expectantly.

Rin liked to make fun of him for such gestures, reminding him that touch wasn’t necessary—this wasn’t a spell or magic or anything ridiculous like that, it was just simple biology and energy transfers. But it meant something to him—he appreciated the sensation of closeness, the way it felt like a real, true bond was springing up, tangible if only for a moment, so he indulged in the “sappy displays” Rin accused him of in moments like this—and Gou never once complained.

Her fingers were tiny in his palm as he clutched her outstretched hands gently, and he closed his eyes, soft smile quirking up wider when he felt her warm forehead press against his own. Maybe she liked it too, for she never did this sort of thing with Rin; only him.

“You’re such a sap,” Rin remarked fondly, from what sounded like far away, and Haruka barely held himself back from snapping _You’re one to talk_.

He let the outside interference fall away, concentrating not on Rin, not on Gou—but on the information, the knowledge he would share. Reviewing it in his mind, as if teaching himself—an old memory that was part of his _self_ now, there to access at will rather than having to be called up on command.

_Not down the spine, but along the sides. Not a rolling motion—but rotation. A straight pull, with no push. Ease and comfort. Efficiency. And therefore speed._

He saw himself, saw the elegant dive, the powerful dolphin kick, surfacing with a breath and breaking into the stroke—a crawl. The double-axel crawl. It had taken him _months_ to master it, the frustration nearly pushing him to abandon it. What did it matter how fast he swam? He wasn’t a competitor—and even if he had been, who cared about competitions these days? He should enjoy swimming his own way, without external interference, _freely_. He could _doggy paddle_ , and if that was what he enjoyed most, then that was how he ought to continue to swim.

But something inside, some stubborn determination he hated to admit lay buried deep within, had risen up and forced him to keep at it, to angle his wrist correctly and shift his hips properly, and when it had finally all come together, it had just _clicked_ , like he’d tapped into his own hive mind and it had all finally made sense. The _speed_ , the _fluidity_ , rushing through him like a high that filled him with energy and sent him rocketing down the lane. He couldn’t go back—didn’t _want_ to go back to those jerky, serpentine movements with the single-axel stroke; _this_ felt so much more natural, so much more a _part_ of him—

He felt the connection snap, felt his mind close off as he physically drew away from Gou, blinking several times in succession to bring the room back into focus. It was quiet; even Rin had respectfully held off from making any wisecracks while Haruka had shared one of his most precious memories with Gou. His breath had picked up a hair, the memory crisper and fresher in his mind than it ever had been before, and he supposed that was just a product of sharing it with someone else now; two minds living it at once, just as real to Gou as it had ever been to Haruka. And all of the knowledge and understanding that went with it…hers now as well.

He swallowed, collecting himself, and gave her fingers a light squeeze, reminding in his most ‘responsible adult’ voice, “Just because you understand how to do it now doesn’t mean you’ll be able to handle it right away. It’s more than just knowing the routine—putting them together is usually the bottleneck.”

She ducked a nod, offering a monotone, “Yessir,” but then bit her lip to hide a smile that clearly said she was already envisioning herself powering down the lane like she had an outboard motor strapped to her back. Which would have been a bit more believable if she could make it down the long lanes even _once_ without having to rest halfway through, keeping Rin and Haruka hovering at her side as she splashed about as best she could. She’d get the hang of it with time, though, and while Haruka often felt a twinge of regret after sharing things so freely with her instead of making her _work_ for the knowledge, he couldn’t bring himself to do so today, not when he could practically feel the itch to get into the natatorium to _try it out_ radiating off of her.

“Oi!” Rin interrupted his thoughts, offense clear in his voice, “You wouldn’t let me give her Butterfly! That’s so not fair!”

Haruka just shrugged, refilling his cup of tea. “She doesn’t need Butterfly.”

“I’m only gonna swim free!” Gou rejoined brightly, and Haruka favored her with a nod of approval, which she lapped up. 

“Ugh—she’s _definitely_ playing favorites,” he spit out sourly, clearly feeling like he was being ganged up on.

But Haruka soothed his ruffled feathers with the reminder that, “No, she’s just taking after you,” and after taking a moment to mull this over, Rin quieted down again, glancing away with ears burning pink at the tips. “Stop sulking; it’s your turn now.”

Gou reached over with an excited gasp, tugging on Rin’s sleeve. “Your turn now, your turn!”

With a show of great deliberation, Rin finally huffed his acquiescence and shooed her away to a respectable distance. “All right, all right, hang on—let me try and remember it…” 

It was mostly for Gou’s benefit, as she seemed to love the ‘fanfare’ that came when they decided to consciously share things with her, making a spectacle of the occasion. Haruka liked that it instilled in her a sense of the importance of the gesture—let her know that this was something she needed to treasure, to understand that they were giving her things because it was _important_ that she share them. And that, in turn, she ought to use what they gave her in a respectful manner. If she remembered that this knowledge, these things she now instinctively _knew_ , was just as important as if she’d labored for weeks or months learning on her own, then there was less risk of her growing cocky and overly self-assured. She would appreciate the knowledge, as she ought to, and hopefully use it wisely.

He watched them silently, taking in their similar stances—heads bowed, eyes closed, breathing synced—and coloring, even the expressions on their faces painting them as parent and child. Like this, one could almost see the threads of _not human_ woven into their beings, the hard, sharp qualities that somehow grew more pronounced when they tapped into this side of themselves. He wondered distantly if this was how he looked when he deposited something for Gou to assimilate, if he too got this _edge_ to himself that warned others off. 

Rin’s eyes snapped open again, staring straight ahead to bore into Gou’s, and he softly welcomed her back with, “You got it?” She pursed her lips, nodding once firmly, and there was a spark of pride in Rin’s eyes when he pressed, “The basis of the Drift is?”

“The…neural handshake,” she parroted back, tongue nearly tripping over the words she clearly didn’t know the meaning of.

“And the basis of the neural handshake?”

“Psycho… Psycholang…”

“Psycholinguistic identification,” Rin helped, smile curling wickedly. “And the basis of that identification is?”

“Common experience.” Her confidence must have built sufficient momentum, for she continued without prompting, “And the basis of common experience is training. And the basis of training is…an invar’ble set of—”

“ _Invariable_ ; it means they’re all the same, uniform. Unchanging.”

“Invariable set of exercises within a single discipline. What’s a discipline?”

“I’ll explain later—go on, finish it up.” He nodded his head, urging her on.

She drew herself up proudly: “And that discipline is the study of the Jaeger!” _Jaegers_ she knew—which explained her excitement. Or, she thought she knew them. She knew of the war machines, had seen the cheesy commercials for their action figures on television (complete with poorly reenacted battle scenes), and had even picked up on the fact that Haruka and Rin had once piloted one together. But she didn’t _know_ about them, not really, not the harsh truth—not yet—so she still had that childish air of wonder about her when they came up in conversation.

Which, Haruka hoped, was the _only_ reason Rin had chosen to give her the Jaeger Bushido mantra—the words that new cadets rote-memorized to give them some sort of foundation, to connect in their minds how getting their asses handed to them in the Kwoon might somehow translate to _not_ getting decimated in the field by the next Scissure or Ceramander. 

Rin nodded once, proud of her effort, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before reminding, “Now run over and get changed; we were only able to reserve an hour, and there’s an evening aquacising class scheduled after us.”

Her response was an excited scramble down off the chair and a jog toward the door—and Haruka thought to call her back, to remind her to take Makoto’s gift with her and store it properly, but Rin’s fond snort distracted him, and he furrowed his brows in irritation. “…You should have discussed with me first before giving her that.”

“Huh? Like you discussed giving her the double-axel?”

Haruka’s frown was resolute as he reached for the plates and silverware to tidy up. “You know that’s not the same. We agreed not to…get her involved in this. Not until we _had_ to. Swimming isn’t going to get her noticed by PPDC recruitment. _This_ is…” He trailed off, shaking his head and willing his blood pressure down to safer levels. They couldn’t take it back; now would be about _damage_ control, about disabusing Gou of any fantasies involving piloting and fighting for the PPDC, about—

“Would you relax? I gave her a fucking poem about Jaegers. Not the start-up sequence for Omega Free’s conn-pod.” Haruka felt the tension strung across his shoulders relax a hair—until Rin added, “That’s for Christmas.”

“ _Rin_ —” he started, voice going strained and hard, but Rin rounded on him, close and serious and intense. 

He had Haruka backed up against the sink, and his voice had dropped—he was always good about ensuring Gou never heard them argue; not _seriously_ at least. She might find their bickering amusing, like most seemed to, but no child wanted to see their parents genuinely arguing. “…You know better, Haru. You do.”

And of course Rin was right; he always was, when it came to Gou. He might not have any innate parenting instincts—Haruka certainly didn’t—but he knew better than anyone how best to navigate delicate secrets, to be _just_ open and truthful enough. Haruka ground out, “…I don’t want to do it _like this_. It’s a slippery slope, and this needs to be _discussed_.”

“Then let me know when you’re ready to ‘discuss’ it,” Rin bit out, and Haruka wanted to protest that that _wasn’t fair_ , except he knew Rin had every right to call him out on forever avoiding the subject.

After all, who really wanted to map out how best to tell their child that they were probably going to be tossed to the figurative sharks as soon as they’d been fitted for a Drift Suit? 

“You know…” Rin reminded soberly, but with more gentle reprimand in his voice now than outright acidic bitterness. “We probably won’t have any say in whether or not she gets drafted, one way or the other.” He straightened up, taking a half step back to let Haruka breathe. “And I dunno about you, but I’d rather see her prepared for it than blind-sided.”

Right. Again. Like always. “She’s…still too young,” he tried. “And it’s her _birthday_ ; couldn’t you have given her _anything_ else?”

“Well I _was_ gonna give her Butterfly, but…” He snorted at the glare Haruka fixed him with, shaking his head. “You’re gonna hate me for this—but you need to start acting less like a parent…and more like a Fightmaster, Nanase.”

“She’s not a _soldier_ ,” Haruka reminded darkly, a streak of disbelief in his tone.

“Not yet, at any rate,” Rin shot back, equally dark, but he seemed to catch himself, for the challenging glint that had flared in his eye was quickly doused, and he continued with a labored sigh, “Just…I don’t want her getting chucked into the deep end without the slightest clue how to swim.”

“She can swim just fine,” Haruka protested weakly, victory grasped when Rin managed a tired smile.

“You know what I mean. I want to…give her the best foundation we can. So she can make good decisions.” He thinned his lips into a serious line, dropping his voice even further—and Haruka realized that he was doing it because he worried the room might be bugged. Which wasn’t paranoia. “She has the best of both of us in her—and I trust her with this. As much as I _don’t_ trust _them_.”

Haruka parsed his words—he meant the PPDC of course. And maybe the Marshal too. Hell, he might have even been subtly suggesting that Amakata-sensei—or even Makoto—might turn on them and drag Gou into the horror show that was the battle for their planet, if pushed to such extremes. Haruka wanted to trust them—but in truth, they couldn’t implicitly trust _anyone_. And who could really blame them, balancing the life of one child against the fate of the human race? It made sense, that they’d eventually want her. Under other circumstances, he might have even _suggested_ —

There was a sharp prick of pain as Rin flicked him on the forehead. “It’s a Drift, that’s all. We’ve got shit to deal with—and it’s too much for one person. So we’ll do it together.” He firmed his jaw, glancing away. “…Sorry. For not talking it over with you earlier.”

And he did seem genuinely contrite—but with a hard, stubborn edge that said _I’m sorry, but I don’t regret it_ , and while yes, the Jaeger Bushido mantra would be little more than a fun, thrilling poem to put to some tune she dreamed up, it marked the first step down a path Haruka didn’t want her to tread, even if he knew she’d probably have to, one way or another. Steering her in that direction themselves, outfitting her properly as they saw fit…had to be better than leaving it to the PPDC, right?

He twisted in place, running water over the plates and washing the crumbs into the garbage disposal. “…I guess it was better than giving her Butterfly.”

* * *

Haruka glanced around the room, blinking at the shadows thrown against the wall by the small screen displaying footage from a local news station, the volume muted. “You put her to bed already?”

“Mmhmm,” Rin affirmed, fingers flying over the screen of his tablet as he tapped out a message. “She was exhausted, so she didn’t put up too much of a fight. Did make me read her a few pages from those books Tachibana sent her, though.” He tapped the power button on the tablet, and the screen blipped to black as he tossed it to the side. “No bath tonight?”

Haruka mopped at his damp hair. “I was worried I’d just fall asleep if I soaked.”

“Since when has that stopped you?” Rin challenged with a smile. “You’ll have to pull your own ass out, though; I’m not gonna baby you like Tachibana.”

Haruka huffed softly, draping the towel over his shoulders, and settled on the narrow loveseat next to Rin, shoulders bumping from the cramped quarters. “…Thanks.”

“Hm?”

He fixed his gaze on the muted television, ignoring the prompting lilt. “…For letting me take those laps.”

Rin shrugged easily, sighing as he settled more comfortably against Haruka’s side. “We haven’t been able to hit the pool lately, and you needed it more than me. Besides—” He pressed his face into the meat of Haruka’s bicep, smiling. “It’s fun watching you; Gou gets a real kick out of it, y’know.”

“She does?”

“Yup. Calls you _pretty_.” He shifted around until he was practically sprawled in Haruka’s lap. “Nanase Haruka, the _prettiest_ Fightmaster this side of the International Date Line.” When Haruka’s mood soured visibly, Rin just snorted. “You’re definitely prettier than the Sydney Shatterdome’s Fightmaster, that I can attest to.”

Haruka didn’t respond, but he let himself relax, closing his eyes and enjoying the silence and calm. These moments were getting rarer and rarer with Kaiju attacks now something they needed to be on guard for again. That first one, after the lull…no one had been ready for it. And now they were being craftier about it, deliberately avoiding major population centers and instead hitting smaller ports, striking hard and fast and retreating before nearby Jaegers could be sortied, in what looked to be an effort to demoralize the human resistance. It was working.

Rin mumbled something unintelligible, rolling over to pillow his head in Haruka’s lap as he reached up with one hand to wrap long, slender fingers around a strong wrist, tracing the lifeline before pressing a kiss at its end. The Thread that stretched between them thrummed with contentment, as Rin tried to settle his nerves. Haruka let him, if only because he was too tired to ignore the thrall. “So tense,” Rin murmured, a grin in his voice. “I could do something to help with that.” He shifted back upright, hair in disarray now, and Haruka dipped his gaze off to the side, trying to focus on the newscast—a field reporter was showing off some tiny farming village’s bumper crop—and not Rin, half in his lap, with offers of attentions hanging between them.

He tugged his wrist from Rin’s gentle grasp, reminding, “We’ve got that meeting in the morning—don’t pretend you missed the memo.”

Rin’s sour expression left nothing to the imagination, until it wrinkled into confusion. “Whadya think it’s for?”

Haruka shrugged. “Based on the personnel required to attend—maybe a visiting dignitary? Marshal from another Shatterdome?” The message had been blasted to the whole Shatterdome—so it obviously wasn’t a private affair—but only personnel classes R1 and AO1 were being required to attend, instructed in the message to report to the Jaeger Bay at 0800. No further details had been shared, but given that those categories covered all Rangers and top-level Shatterdome officers, it was likely someone of similar rank.

“Mm, so the Marshal won’t miss us if we oversleep then, huh?”

“Maybe,” Haruka allowed, then flicked his gaze down to lock eyes with Rin, raising a brow, “But you always fall asleep right after, and Gou could come in and find us in a compromising position, then.”

Rin was immediately on guard, sputtering hotly, “ _Horse shit_ , I do _not_ fall asleep right after!”

Haruka cocked his head, brow quirking even higher in accusation. “Just the other night, it took me ten minutes to extricate myself from your death grip—and then I had to go sleep with Gou in your room so she wouldn’t be alone when she woke up.” Rin’s flustered expression, a pout twitching at his lips, said he remembered this now, and Haruka took pity on him, pressing a kiss to his forehead like a child. “I’ll jerk you off in the shower if you’re up early enough.”

Rin batted him away, obviously irked by the treatment, and snapped, “Not if you’re gonna make it sound like you’re doing me a fucking _favor_ ; I can jerk _myself_ off, thank you very much. How about—” He waved a finger in Haruka’s face. “—if _you_ wake up early enough, perhaps _I’ll_ deign to jerk _you_ off.” He then pinched a tiny bit of flesh he found at Haruka’s midsection. “Which you don’t even deserve, for that Butterfly remark earlier.”

* * *

In the end, they neither one of them wound up rising early enough to shower _or_ jerk off—so it was unwashed and unrelieved that they made their way down to the Jaeger Bay the next morning. Gou was shuttled off, still somewhat bleary-eyed, to be watched over by Amakata-sensei—as the K-Science officers were exempt from attendance. She smiled, waving them off when they apologized for the last-minute request, reminding, “I may not have your talents, but I’m sure there are still some things I can teach her—” And she’d squeezed Gou’s hand in her own, offering with a smile, “Would you like to see a Kaiju skin mite we recovered recently? We might be able to find some gloves to fit you—and then you can even touch it!”

Both their jaws had dropped, frantic protests ready on their lips—until a buzzing reminder that the meeting would be starting in fifteen minutes called them away.

By the time they made it through the crowded maze of hallways and onto the deck of the Jaeger Bay, the Marshal was already well into a long-winded speech, blathering on about holding strong in the face of recent setbacks and promising projects and proposals in the works that they’d be trawling the Ranger pools for recruits for in the near future. 

After a reminder that an entourage of K-Scientists was going to arrive the next month as part of a joint research exchange with the Hong Kong station, the Marshal twisted around and jerked his head, beckoning forward a man standing at attention in uniform and brass that marked him as a Ranger. “In the meantime, I’d like to take a moment to introduce you all to a transient who’ll be sharing quarters with us for a few weeks, while he waits for the next transport up to Anchorage—Ranger Yamazaki Sousuke. I expect you all to afford him the respect appropriate to his rank, and to treat him like the guest he is during his stay.” The Marshal clapped him tightly on the shoulder—which pulled a wince from the Ranger. 

Rin snorted softly, leaning over and whispering, “I see the Marshal’s practicing his usual delicate touch… It’s a wonder he hasn’t won over Amakata yet.”

His comment had been soft-spoken, far too quiet to be heard up at the podium, but it still managed to draw attention, and the new Ranger—Yamazaki, was it?—directed a sharp glare their way, giving Haruka cause to elbow Rin sharply and hiss for his silence.

“Dismissed!” the Marshal’s voice echoed around the Bay, and the crowd instantly dispersed, depriving Haruka and Rin of the precious cover they’d enjoyed standing far at the back. The Marshal spotted them almost instantly, barking for their attendance with, “Fightmaster, report!”

Haruka cut Rin a look—if he received a formal reprimand for Rin’s stupid comment, there would be hell to pay—before jogging forward alone, Rin holding back and clearly in no mood to be upbraided alongside Haruka so early in the morning. “Sir,” he allowed, shifting to attention.

The Marshal inclined his head in Haruka’s direction, but directed his comment toward Yamazaki at his elbow. “Yamazaki, this is Nanase, our Fightmaster. Should you desire any time in the Kwoon, he’ll be the one to field your requests. Our facilities aren’t as new as the ones in Osaka, I’m sure—but we make do. Right, Nanase?”

“Yes, sir,” Haruka responded, flicking a glance over at Yamazaki—but the Ranger wasn’t looking at him. Nor at the Marshal.

He was looking beyond the both of them, over Haruka’s shoulder—out into the belly of the Bay. 

Right at Rin. 

_Staring_ at him, really; like he was trying to place him, to figure him out. Haruka’s hackles went up, and he suddenly wanted to _not_ be here anymore—wanted Rin to not be there _with_ him. The Marshal spared him having to make up an excuse to turn tail and run, though, when the tablet hanging from his belt buzzed with a message, and he dismissed Haruka back to his duties. “I’d make an appointment to use the Kwoon ASAP, though, Ranger; our Fightmaster’s schedule’s quite packed.”

“I’ll be sure to, Sir,” Yamazaki answered politely, but the smile felt forced, and Haruka felt his stomach drop when the Marshal took his leave—and Yamazaki didn’t follow, instead favoring Haruka with a short nod suitable for his rank before brushing past him.

Headed straight for Rin.

Haruka watched it all happen, leaden legs grounding him in place, and an uneasy feeling began to curdle in the pit of his stomach—not helped in the least when Yamazaki cocked a brow and held up a fist in easy greeting, drawling, “Well well well, look who’s back from the dead.”


	2. Chapter 2

Yamazaki’s bulk—broad shoulders, height to match, a PPDC poster child if ever there were one—hid Rin’s face from view, but Haruka could _feel_ the maelstrom of emotion rippling off of him: thick, sludgy confusion as he tried to kick his mind into gear and place the face and name of the man approaching; sharp, heart-pounding panic that an _outsider_ was engaging him now, and he didn’t have the cocky confidence at his back anymore to deal with it smoothly; and underneath it all the groping, grabbing desperation as Rin tangled himself in the Thread and called for aid he likely didn’t even realize he sought—or else he’d be so embarrassed at the display of weakness he’d shutter himself off immediately.

Haruka bolstered their Thread as best he could—then took measured steps forward, his pace quicker than usual as he tried to catch up with Yamazaki’s long strides without looking like he was chasing the Ranger down.

But Yamazaki still reached Rin first, arm braced high and fist clenched—and Haruka wondered for one panicked moment if he was going to _hit_ Rin, just punch his lights out for some imagined slight, and his instincts immediately went on high-alert, scenarios playing out in his head and weak points flashing in his vision like pinpricks of light. He had the element of surprise, at least; Yamazaki’s focus was fixed entirely on Rin right now—all he had to do was—

Yamazaki stopped of a sudden, boots scraping on the plate steel floor. “Yo!” His jaw firmed up into a smirk, and he shook his fist, spooking Rin into taking one halting step backward, eyes flicking in panic towards Haruka. 

The crowd dispersing around them threw curious glances their way, but most kept their distance, hurrying off to their respective assignments and paying little attention to what was ostensibly the reunion between two Rangers. Haruka reached out, actively groping to get a read on Yamazaki, but all he felt was _relief_ and _interest_ and _excitement_ , emotions so crisp and genuine it felt like stepping out into a biting winter breeze. 

When Rin didn’t respond to his gesture in the way he’d apparently expected, Yamazaki quirked a bemused brow. “What—you make Ranger and suddenly you’re too good to speak to old friends?” He jerked his chin to the bars on Rin’s uniform, which still marked him as a Ranger, and Haruka cursed the oversight; they hadn’t bothered to order a change for him, as he hadn’t been formally discharged. Leaving the rest of the Shatterdome to assume he was still on duty to some degree freed them from having to forge more documents than necessary. Yamazaki swanning in like this hadn’t been expected—but they probably ought to have been overly cautious all the same. Now it was back to bite them in the ass.

He could feel Rin’s tension rising, everything animal still buried within merging with tricky-to-manipulate human emotions and putting Rin on high alert—something Haruka would want to pick apart much later. Rin interacted with other Shatterdome officers and personnel every day, even held lectures where he coached cadets on what to expect in the field (as a former Ranger, of course, and not as—well, a turncoat). So what was it about Yamazaki exactly that had him practically climbing the walls in agitation?

Before the situation could escalate further, Haruka called out in his best ‘authoritative figure’ voice, “Is there something I can help you with, Ranger?”

Yamazaki’s arm fell back to his side, and he shifted around slightly, expression as frosty as the emotional arctic blast Haruka had endured and one brow arched, clearly not impressed with—or perhaps, not used to—being addressed in such a fashion. Haruka was Fightmaster, and officially ranked above Yamazaki and Matsuoka and the like, but Rangers were generally granted wider berth and a longer leash than others, given that without them, these Shatterdomes would be little more than piles of smoldering metal and gravely cement dust. 

“…No, Sir,” he allowed coolly, “Was just greeting an acquaintance of mine; Matsuoka and I go way back.”

“An acquaintance?” Haruka repeated, darting a glance to Rin—for now that he’d been addressed by name, it was clear this was no case of mistaken identity. But Rin’s brows just cinched together, his confusion still thick and viscous around Haruka, and he gave the subtlest of head jerks; no, Yamazaki might claim acquaintance, but Rin didn’t seem to share the recognition. “You know Matsuoka?” 

“I ought to,” Yamazaki responded with a short huff, crossing his arms over his chest and flicking an amused glance Rin’s way, as if expecting to share in some fun secret. “We spent practically every waking moment together as kids.” He allowed his grin to widen, but when Rin didn’t return that knowing smile, the expression faltered, shifting instead to one of nervous bemusement. “I—you do remember me, right? Sousuke, from Sano Elementary?” He put his back to Haruka, facing Rin fully again, but at least didn’t bother advancing on him this time. “Our dads worked together? We lived, like, two houses away from each other?” Rin’s failure to respond with recognition to these clues was fueling mounting tension—until Yamazaki let up, relenting with, “I know I’m built like a brick house, now, but cut me some slack; surely it’s not _that_ drastic a change.”

He was broad across the shoulders—more so than Rin, even, who was not delicately built—and nearly of a height with Makoto. But the duffel bag he toted was slung over his left shoulder, despite being apparently right-handed, and Haruka wondered if “on his way to Anchorage” meant something more like “on his way to cold storage,” being shuttled out of the way to make room for more capable, able-bodied Rangers. Anchorage was the least heavily-defended Shatterdome in the PPDC; even the Kaiju, it seemed, saw little purpose in braving the bitter cold of the Arctic Circle just to harass a city of a few hundred thousand. If he was being transferred there…it wasn’t because they needed his skills in a Conn-Pod. 

Yamazaki took a step back, running his fingers through his hair and ruffling the short-cropped buzz, and then he _laughed_. Not a harsh bark, just a relieved chuckle as he bit his lip and shook his head. “ _Man_ , I mean—after that Kaiju pretty much mauled the coastline…I figured…” But something stuck in his throat, and he never elaborated. “And—my folks moved us away, further inland, and I couldn’t track down you or your family—” He waved a hand in Rin’s direction, cheeks flushed with excitement. “But clearly you made it out! _Shit_ , I had no clue…all this time…”

Haruka wondered distantly if he ought to call a medical officer, because Yamazaki seemed a bit too giddy, and he was talking to himself enough to counter Rin’s stark, stiff silence.

“I thought…” He stopped walking, gaze serious and fixed sharply on Rin. “I thought…the worst. I thought maybe you hadn’t made it out, or that…I dunno. I just thought a lot of things.” He scratched at the back of his head, biting his lip to stop the goofy smile that clearly wanted to leech onto his features. The relief was almost overwhelming, buffeting Haruka violently and leaving him groping for the Thread, despite knowing Rin needed him to be strong just now. He wanted very much to be Not Here—and felt certain Rin agreed. “And here I find you…in probably the last place I ever would’ve thought to look.” He shook his head, grin quirking up on one side. “Ain’t life a bitch like that? Rin.”

And that seemed to be the extent of what Rin could handle, for he muttered, soft and desperate. “Haru—Haru, I—” and Haruka was instantly on the offense, forcing himself to view the situation with the cool, constrained mind of a soldier. He needed to diffuse the tension—to keep this from escalating further. He needed to identify weak points, places he could push and use his opponent’s strengths—desires—against him. 

He strode forward, hand held up: “Ranger Yamazaki, was it?” And Yamazaki’s eyes were on him again; Haruka was used to others having a good few (dozen) centimeters on him—even Rin had him beat by two, not that he paid much attention to that sort of thing—but Rangers tended to carry a _presence_ about them that left them feeling like giants. He didn’t quail, though, diverting the river of irritation flowing around him and holding his ground. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse Ranger Matsuoka if he doesn’t…quite recall your previous encounters.”

“What?” Yamazaki nearly laughed the word, curious gaze flicking to Rin and back to Haruka again.

“Ranger Matsuoka is…currently off-duty. Neural trauma suffered during an attack in Sydney has compromised some of his early memories.” He pursed his lips, willing his voice to steady. “You may know him—but he likely doesn’t remember you.”

“Trauma…?” Yamazaki repeated, turning the word over in his mouth as he tried to wrap his head around it, and he glanced over, dubious, at Rin. “You hit your head? Seriously? This is a joke, right?” The way Rin kept his mouth shut and kept tossing nervous glances Haruka’s way must not have sat right with him, for he looked like he wanted to press the matter further, with a sharp, “ _Hey_ —say something, at least!”

Movement behind Yamazaki’s shoulder caught Haruka’s eye—Makoto, looking on in concern nearer the podium and ignoring the young analyst scribbling something onto her clipboard as she waited for his input. He lifted his brows in question, and Haruka jerked his head sharply, which put a bit of pep into his step as Makoto jogged over. “Ranger Yamazaki? Ranger—I’ve been asked to have a cadet show you to your quarters, if that’s all right? I’m afraid the Marshal had matters to attend to, and he sends his regrets for not being able to ensure you’re comfortably settled in, but I’ll make certain you find your way to your quarters.” Yamazaki was clearly caught off-guard, eyes flicking back and forth between the three of them, realizing he was outnumbered now, and he began to stammer a response. “Is this your first time visiting the Tokyo Shatterdome?”

“I—no, I mean, I came here once…on a field trip, as a kid…”

Makoto’s smile was blithe, and he nodded amicably. “Yes—seeing the inside of such a facility must be any kid’s dream, right?” He motioned in the direction of the residential wing, flashing a tight smile back at Haruka and Rin, who watched him skillfully shuttle Yamazaki away. Under other circumstances, it might have been amusing, seeing the wind so quickly sucked from the Ranger’s sails as Makoto created a diversion he couldn’t ignore without grossly offending a superior officer, but Haruka only felt relief. His own, this time, and not the crisp, biting blast of what Yamazaki felt, like a desert chill rolling across a parched desert that was so long coming, it overshot anything remotely tolerable and landed squarely in _unbearable_.

Moments after handing Yamazaki off to a bewildered cadet flagged down on his way from the mess hall, Makoto hurried back to their side, clearly in want of an explanation—but Haruka had more immediate concerns.

He laid a hand, open-palm, across the back of Rin’s neck, frowning at the way Rin still seemed shaken by the encounter. He could feel the skin was flushed, and the Thread twanged nervously between them. “…You’re all right now?” he prompted, not sure he could even trust the response.

A nod, and Rin swallowed thickly. “Sorry, just… I dunno. He kind of threw me, I wasn’t expecting…” He shook his head. “No, yeah—I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

The way Makoto’s lips thinned into a line said he didn’t believe the reassurance any more than Haruka did. “…Do I want to ask what happened?”

 _Probably not_ , Haruka answered silently. He jerked his chin in the direction Yamazaki had just disappeared. “The new transfer, Yamazaki; he apparently used to be friends with…” He trailed off, unsure of how to explain things in the most delicate manner.

“With my original,” Rin finished blankly, rubbing at his temples, and he shrugged his shoulder to dislodge Haruka’s touch. “The Matsuoka Rin that served as a source template for…well, me.”

Makoto’s eyes flared a bit wider, but his expression didn’t betray any surprise, frown only deepening. “…That could present problems.”

“No shit. Oh, but don’t worry—Haru made sure to tell him Kaiju drove me crazy so of course _that’s_ why I don’t know him from Adam. Excellent demonstration of why you’re a Fightmaster and not a Battle Tactician, by the way.”

Makoto’s frown softened a hair in amusement, but he kept his words serious. “It’ll probably be best to avoid him, if at all possible. The less contact he has with Matsuoka, the better.” Haruka nodded shortly, wondering if they ought to bring this up with the Marshal, when Makoto added distractedly, “…Though keeping you occupied and out of sight may not be much of an issue soon…”

Haruka felt the Thread pull tight with tension—though it hummed with an alert readiness that said Rin was as keen to go on the offensive here as Haruka, and that comforted. Rin was the one to speak first: “…What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

They were neither of them surprised when all Makoto did was offer an apologetic shrug before professing an urgent need to be somewhere else entirely.

* * *

There were a lot of downsides to no longer being an active-duty Ranger—a lot. And now that he was just that, Rin had all the time in the world to agonize over them in his head. 

He’d had his missions—and not just from the PPDC. He’d had duties to carry out, delivered through orders piped into his mind riding on neural waves and hormone signals flushing through his system—but it had never stopped the very human parts of him from enjoying, on some level, the thrill of the battles he fought. Adrenaline was a wonderful chemical, feeding him a high that climaxed with each kill, every moment he’d ever come _this close_ to having his block knocked off.

He was expendable; he’d known that. There were a million, billion more just like him, ready to take his place, so why waste time (and his cover) ensuring the Kaiju sent to raze the coastal metropolises didn’t take out one of their own in the effort? No, there was strategy to it all, but ultimately, Rin had been very much on his own. Do his job, perform his duties, or fail and simply be replaced until the task was executed.

So he missed that—the thrill of the battle, of _knowing_ that he was all alone out there. That the Kaiju would show him no mercy, that his Drift Partner (the ones that could stomach being synced to him for more than a few moments) would be of no aid, and that the Precursors would never lift a finger to save him. Standing alone and coming out on top…it wasn’t part of his programming, but something primal—likely something _human_ that hadn’t been scored from his genetic code—loved the thrill of that challenge, and loved even more the rush of victory.

He’d liked it, so he’d never reported it. Maybe it would’ve made a difference, if he had.

Now, the occasional Kwoon session or lap in the natatorium with Haru went some ways toward reviving that feeling—but Haru wasn’t out to kill him, would never crush his windpipe with a kick to the throat if Rin didn’t block fast enough, couldn’t wrestle him under the surface and hold him there until shock forced Rin to take a breath and fill his lungs with cold, heavy water. So it wasn’t the same. The _risk_ wasn’t there. And he missed it.

But more than anything, perhaps what he missed most…was having something to _do_.

Because Rin was _bored as shit_ these days.

Well, all right, maybe that was doing a disservice to Haru. And their relationship. And Gou— _definitely_ Gou.

But their existence satisfied a different craving from the one giving him pangs even still, more than a year after he’d hung up his Drivesuit. Interacting with them, feeling in a real, _physical_ way the depth and breadth of their love for him through the intricate links that bound them inextricably, it was hard _not_ to understand—and it filled him, satiated the part of him that would probably always long to be part of a whole.

This other hunger that still ate at him, though—this urge that tickled at the back of his mind and set him to longing for battles past…this was something else altogether. 

And he worried what might happen if he were ever presented with an opportunity to sate it.

After Tachibana’s abrupt flight, soles of his shoes practically leaving rubber tracks as he beat a hasty retreat from their questions, Haru had excused himself to the Kwoon to prepare for his noon session: dealing with the most recent cut of Ranger-wannabes who had already mastered the cocky attitude so inherent in Jaeger pilots. Rin smiled to himself, wondering if he ought to drop in and observe (Haru looked fucking gorgeous when he was grinding a wise-ass recruit’s face into the tatami), before a trilling alert announcing an incoming message ruined his afternoon plans.

_**Re:** Opening Address to Recruit Convoy 34-B-delta_

_Be advised that convoy’s arrival has been accelerated by 24 hours. Opening remarks to be delivered at 1600; Ranger’s address requested for 1630._

Rin scrolled through the rest of the memo, searching for some explanation as to _why_ the convoy’s arrival had ben stepped up—but as usual, he was situated at too low a rung on the ladder now to merit any such niceties. 

They wanted him to address the incoming recruits; Marshal Sasabe had talked up the speech, making it sound very important and distinguished, but Rin had been in their place before…and then had stood on the other side, inside a Conn-Pod looking out on a battlefield he knew he was partly responsible for. Somehow, it didn’t quite sit right, talking up the notion of this war as anything noble or honorable. It was simply kill or be killed, and Rin had a vested interest in keeping certain members on this side of the war alive.

He much preferred the lectures he was occasionally called in to give; an Assault Specialist, they presented him as now. Not _the_ Assault Specialist—there was a loud, brash hothead by the name of Mikoshiba wandering around flaunting _that_ title—but it was the only title they could give him that let cadets and officers alike know that Rin was there to share his valuable experience in the field. And to maybe help them stay alive for five seconds longer than they otherwise might last in battle. 

Haru occasionally suggested he take on the job full-time, and he’d considered it—but he wasn’t like Haru. He couldn’t tuck himself away behind concrete walls and iron beams and content himself with _teaching_. Part of him still wanted to be out there _doing_ —

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t, could never again. Even if he hadn’t been worried about exposing himself through the Drift again, tempting fate and drawing the eye of the Precursors once more, there was still Haru to consider, and even if Haru supported him 150%, he wouldn’t risk it. Itchy feet were happy burdens to bear when the alternative was the destruction from the brain stem out of one of the things you cared for most in the world.

He huffed softly to himself putting his tablet to sleep and slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket as he glanced at his watch; he’d thought to take Gou off of Amakata’s hands after the meeting this morning, maybe sneak off base to the little park top-side that officers’ families tended to frequent. They couldn’t allow her to be around other children for extended periods of time—long enough for them to start noticing she was aging a fair bit faster than she ought to—but a park playdate would hurt nothing. That wasn’t going to happen now, though, as he’d have to prepare some notes for the overblown speech he was supposed to give. The Marshal had assured him that, distinguished as the honor was, he could probably wing it—but it wouldn’t do to embarrass himself, so he’d just have to settle for an early lunch with the kid.

The K Science labs were kept well away from the barracks—and given that Amakata had mentioned _skin mites_ earlier, perhaps this was for the best. It did, however, make the journey to reach her lab quite a trek, and by the time Rin had successfully navigated the maze of halls and stairwells and twists and turns, his stomach was beginning to remind him that lunch wasn’t too far off. Her position as Head Scientist meant Amakata’s lab was the largest with the best equipment the Shatterdome could afford, and stepping from the dark, dank hallways snaking through the ground into the relatively aseptic, bright environment of Amakata’s lab was like night and day.

Fume hoods rumbled next to incubators, and lab techs scrambled about—this one to turn off a beeping alarm, another to turn down a burner threatening to spill over. Rin grabbed the sleeve of one he’d interacted with before as she tried to dart by. “Where’s Amakata-sensei?”

The young woman raked him over with an irritated gaze before recognizing him, then responded huffily as she jerked back her arm and made for the nearest cell culture hood, “Med bay; one of the med techs asked her to corroborate some lab results.”

“Wh—you’ve gotta be…I _just_ came from the Jaeger Bay.” The assistant shrugged. The Med Bay was barely a stone’s throw from the Jaeger Bay—not exactly a rousing endorsement, layout-wise, for the efficacy of the Jaeger Program, when Rin thought about it. This would mean another twenty-minute walk through the corridors and down the two flights of stairs he’d had to climb to reach this level. 

But the assistant had already moved on, clearly eager to get back to her benchwork, and with a sigh, Rin turned on his heel and strode back out into the corridor, muttering under his breath as he headed for the stairwell to make his way to the Med Bay.

“Ah, Rin-chan, Rin-chan!” He was practically knocked to the ground as a body slammed into him the moment his boots touched the grated metal of the Jaeger Bay, and a clipboard was shoved into his face before he could manage a graceful recovery. “Check it out! An _I19 plasmacaster_! I know, I know fitting the tail with a jolt cannon looked cooler, but this’ll work just as well from a distance, I figure—and do a heck of a lot more damage! And it instantly cauterizes any wounds it inflicts, so no Kaiju Blue, either! It’s no IB22, but then we thought—well, with the charge time, and maybe having less maneuverability in the water…”

Rin took a step back, twisting his head to the side to catch a breath and shoving away the clipboard Hazuki had smashed into his face. “The _fuck_ , Hazuki.”

Hazuki shook the board again, top sheet fluttering up to reveal detailed blueprints and charge readings beneath. “I figured you’d wanna be the first to see it, though? We just got permission to retrofit Omega Free’s tail with the I19 this morning, and then there was the assembly—hey, d’you think the new Ranger’s gonna need his own unit? We’ve got one of the Jaegers from Hong Kong here for repairs and an upgrade, but if push came to shove, we could probably—”

“Did you have a point, Hazuki, or…?”

“Oh! So yeah, the plasmacaster? Pretty awesome, right?” His brows practically lifted into his bangs, and he flushed with pride. “The jolt cannon was probably more useful, defense-wise, but for sheer butt-kicking power, the I19 is the way to go!”

He’d tuned out a good portion of Hazuki’s babbling—but somewhere along the way, he gathered that he’d been ambushed so the Weapons Specialist could regale him with some new toy they’d fixed to—“Wait, Omega Free?”

“Yup! Like I said, I wanted to let Haru-chan know too, but then there was the assembly and—”

Rin waved him off, “Yeah, yeah I got that—he’s in the Kwoon, go harass him later if you’re set on it, but back up first: why the hell are you working on our Jaeger again? Did they find a new team?”

Hazuki’s brows cinched together, “Well—no, but all the J-Tech officers who were assigned to the project, we all got that memo last Friday? And—”

“ _Nagisa-kun!_ ” came a huffy voice from halfway across the Jaeger Bay, as Ryuugazaki’s lanky form came loping over, a stack of papers waving in his arm. “Nagisa-kun, the—the shipment—from Vladivostok—”

“No way!!” Hazuki shrieked excitedly, looking like he very much wanted to leap into the air and click his heels together. “They sent us _actual prototypes_? All we asked for were the blueprints! And I didn’t even think we’d get _that_!” He whirled around and clasped Rin’s hands in his own. “ _Tesla Fists_! Oh man, these are gonna be _great_ , since we scrapped the Jolt Cannon!” He clapped his hands to his cheeks in an effort to calm himself, then sniffed superiorly, offering a mock salute. “All right—I’ve got important work to see to, Ranger!” With a wink, he twirled on one heel and started jogging toward Ryuugazaki—who seemed to have run out of energy and was currently bent over, hands on his knees, recovering his breath. “See ya later!”

Rin watched him go, mouth agape and mind whirling—so the Omega Free project was being restarted? They’d finally scrounged up pilots to replace him and Haru? It wasn’t that it didn’t make sense—far from it, it made all the sense in the world. Why they’d let the project languish _this_ long was more of a mystery.

And yet…it still felt a little strange. Like he was watching that last moment he’d had, the last chance to march out into battle again—to feel that thrill once more—fade into the distance, just out of his grasp.

He wasn’t a pilot anymore. And he might have been okay with that, if he’d had any idea of what he was _instead_ now.

* * *

When he’d asked the orderly manning the nurse’s station where he could find Amakata, he was informed that she was still back in the labs going over the samples she’d been asked to test, though she should only be another 10 minutes or so at best, and they’d let her know he was here to see her. He’d been just about to remind them not to rush her, that he’d be in the waiting room—when a voice called out to him, “Not exactly where I hoped to run into you again, but I’ll take it.”

His heart gave a sickening jolt, and he slowly turned, caution turning his movements sluggish—stark contrast to the way Yamazaki sauntered over with lazy grace, tugging on a jacket as he exited one of the private examination rooms.

When Rin didn’t so much as greet him, Yamazaki’s expression softened into one of mild concern, and he hazarded, “…The Fightmaster—Nanase, he mentioned…you hit your head or something, but—it didn’t, like…mess with your speech centers or something, did it?” He forced a wry grin, as if unsure whether he ought to be joking about Rin’s supposed neural trauma or if a bit of levity would be appreciated.

With a start of offense, Rin frowned, “I—no. It didn’t.” Which didn’t sound very convincing, so he added, “It just…took me off duty for a while. That’s all.”

Yamazaki nodded sympathetically, smile a bit more genuine, and he clapped his right shoulder gently. “Been there, done that.” Rin didn’t quite follow, and he clarified. “Fucked it up routing a Class III heading for the Kii Channel.” He flexed his fingers for show—though stiffness in the joints was evident, and the grimace on his features announced that he was in far from top condition. “He took my Jaeger’s arm—and the Fangblade attached to it. So I took his.” He shrugged. “I’m supposed to be heading up to Alaska to recuperate—if I can learn to use my left as well as I once used my right side, I could be back in a Conn-Pod in a year, my Commander told me.”

But they both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Losing a limb in the Drift was nothing you just ‘recovered’ from; Yamazaki would never get it back, would never be 100% again. The arm was ruined now, for all intents and purposes—just like Haru would be ruined beyond recovery should Rin die now, bound in a manner far more intimate and entwining than a hardline Drift.

And even if, by some miracle, Yamazaki did manage to recover the use of his arm, or mastered the use of his spare—there would always be other, more capable pilots out there, standing in front of him in line waiting to hop inside a Conn-Pod. His fight in this war was over; that’s what Anchorage was for him: a long farewell.

Yamazaki didn’t seem deterred in the least, though. “I like to think of it less as losing an arm and more as still having perfect command of 26 of the 52 Jaeger Bushido moves.”

He quirked a brow, hoping to pull a response from Rin—and against his better judgment, Rin snorted softly, “I don’t think that’s quite how it works, I’m afraid.”

“All right, maybe—but I bet I can still kick your ass in a simulator, even with one hand tied behind my back.”

And for a moment, Rin felt that familiar flicker of _challenge_ flare within, understanding that this man—Yamazaki—would not take it easy on him. Not that Haru ever took it easy, but Yamazaki was a stranger, an unknown: he could maybe, possibly, convince himself that he was fighting for his life, that Yamazaki would put him down if he came out on top, and _maybe_ that would—

“ _Papa!_ ” Gou squealed excitedly, shoes clapping on the concrete as she barreled forward to throw herself against Rin’s legs. “Sensei let me pet a skin mite!”

“P— _’Papa’_?” Yamazaki parroted, eyes wide and face pale as he gaped openly, darting a glance from Gou to Rin and back again.

“She was an angel, as usual,” Amakata called absently from the nurses’ station, where she was hunched over the counter scribbling something onto a sticky note. “And did you give her the _Jaeger Bushido Mantra_? Because she put it to some _tune_ , and to be quite frank, I can’t get it out of my he—oh.” She fell silent when she turned and caught sight of Yamazaki. “I didn’t realize you had company. My apologies.” She was clearly replaying her words in her mind, trying to ensure she hadn’t said anything she shouldn’t have.

Yamazaki thrust a hand forward cordially. “My apologies, ma’am. Ranger Yamazaki Sousuke, of the Osaka Shatterdome. I’m just passing through, here for a few weeks waiting on a transport to carry me up to Anchorage.”

She nodded, taking his hand. “Amakata Miho, Head of K-Science here.” She glanced nervously over at Rin, here, before pasting on a bright smile. “I’m afraid I’ve just been paged back to my lab, though—no time to chat at the moment. We’re _this_ close to perfecting a powder formulation that should help neutralize Kaiju Blue, and I must say I’m excited to present the results to the Marshal.” She nodded at Yamazaki, then Rin. “Gentlemen.”

When her white lab coat had swished out the door, there was a long beat of silence before Yamazaki cagily offered, “So…you and the K-Science officer, huh…?”

It took a moment for the weight of Yamazaki’s suggestion to sink in, and he quickly corrected the misconception with a sputtered, “Oh—hell no. That’s absolutely—no. Just, no.”

Yamazaki muffled a chuckle, shaking his head. “There’s the Rin I know.”

Rin’s heart thudded heavily in his chest again, each pulse clenching tight and painful. He ignored the comment, though, and squeezed Gou’s hand where she’d laced tiny fingers through his own. “Oi. Introduce yourself, go on.” She cast a wary glance his way, knowing that she’d been warned not to speak to strangers, but Rin just nodded, granting tacit permission.

She eyed Yamazaki warily but ducked the best bow she could manage. “Hullo. I’m Matsuoka Gou.” Hardly a proper introduction—but the only one she could be entrusted with at so young an age.

Yamazaki merely _snorted_ in reaction, though—hand whipping up to cover his mouth, and when Rin flashed him a confused look, he waved Rin off, apologizing, “No—just, sorry. But—honestly _’Gou’_?” Another laugh. “Didn’t her aunt put up a fight?”

The sense of unease that was starting to settle across his shoulders weighed heavily now. “…Aunt?”

“Yeah—your sister? Gou-chan.” He dropped into a squat, putting himself at eye-level with Gou now, then held out a hand, offering her the same greeting handshake he had Amakata only moments before. “I’m Yamazaki Sousuke; a Ranger, and a friend of your Papa’s.” He winked at her, then glanced back up at Rin from the awkward angle he was at. “Family reunions must be a bitch, huh? How d’you keep track of who’s who with two ‘Gou’s running around?” Rin groped for a response, feeling his pulse rise and wishing selfishly that Haru were here right now, because he could sure use someone on the other end of their Thread, but then— “Oh, shit, I—” Yamazaki was upright again, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking very uncomfortable as he took a measured step back. “That was…sorry, I didn’t mean to ask. It’s…none of my business.”

Rin studied Yamazaki’s abrupt shift in attitude, pondering his reasons for relenting with what must have seemed an innocuous thread of conversation—until he realized that Yamazaki must have assumed the worst: that this sister of Matsuoka Rin’s, this ‘Gou’, must have died, or been killed, and that Rin naming his daughter after her was merely a way of coping with her loss.

He had no idea if Yamazaki was right or not—but the assumption had saved him from an awkward explanation, so he let it stand, wondering how best to go about tucking Gou under his arm and beating a hasty retreat before Yamazaki started pressing him about— _fuck_ —his _parents_.

Gou tugged on his hand. “Papa and Sou-chan’re friends?”

“S— _Sou-chan_?” _Shit_ —he really ought to have put his foot down with ‘Mako-chan’. 

But Yamazaki just huffed in amusement, shaking his head. “‘Sou-chan’—now that’s a new one. Can’t say I really like people calling me ‘-chan’—”

“Daddy doesn’t either!” Gou rejoined, thrilled to be taking part in an adult conversation.

“—but I’ll allow it. Just this once, seeing as you’re Rin’s kid. Gou-chan.” She half-buried her face in the fabric of Rin’s pants at this, smiling with pride and clearly taken with Yamazaki. Rin just rolled his eyes; their efforts to instill social mores into her through the Collective had evidently been fruitless. But, he supposed it could be worse: at least she hadn’t started calling the Marshal “Goro-chan”. Yet.

It took a moment before he realized Yamazaki was speaking to him again, and he only caught the tail end of his offer, “…watch her, if you ever find yourself short a baby-sitter.”

“Baby-sitter?”

Yamazaki crossed his arms over his chest. “Sure; don’t exactly come with the most glowing of qualifications, but I’ll be cooling my heels here for a couple of weeks, I figure, sitting on my ass 90% of the time. So if you ever need someone…” He lifted his brows, seeking Gou’s approval on the matter. “She could probably benefit from a strong, masculine presence.”

“ _Oi_ ,” Rin snapped, then reflexively shot his arm out to punch Yamazaki lightly in the chest—receiving an affected, amused _Oww, oww!_ in response. He jerked his hand back like he’d been shocked, horrified at the action—where had that come from? How had five minutes in the guy’s presence left him reacting so familiarly, all but _bantering_ now?

But Yamazaki didn’t seem to notice, and he dropped his voice to a tone of soft wonder. “…You and a kid, huh?” His brows lifted. “How’d _that_ happen?”

Rin glanced down, meeting Gou’s curious gaze with a wan smile. “…Didn’t use protection.”

Yamazaki snorted roughly, adjusting the strap on the messenger bag at his hip. “Well _that_ was stupid.” He held out a hand for Gou to slap lightly by way of farewell. “I’ve gotta go see about filing a quarters request for Anchorage; we should have dinner tonight.” He nodded at Gou. “You can bring along your baggage, even.”

Rin could feel Gou practically vibrating with excitement beside him, and he hated to disappoint her, but: “I…I’ve got a speech thing I gotta do. For the incoming recruit convoy. Blow smoke up their asses about honor and duty and stuff. You know the drill.”

Yamazaki nodded, but still forced a smile. “…Some other time, then.”

Rin returned the nod, wondering if he sounded at all believable when he lied, “Absolutely.”

* * *

“…So are we gonna talk about it?”

It was past midnight; they’d put Gou to bed hours ago, and neither of them was paying attention to the soft drone of the evening news anymore, so it seemed as good a time as any to finally broach the topic Haruka had been sitting on since that morning.

Rin, though, obviously had other plans: “…About what?”

Haruka shifted around, muting the television entirely and fixing Rin with a knowing glare. “…Whatever’s going on with you and Yamazaki. You froze when he tried to speak to you.”

“I didn’t—” Rin started, then regrouped. “I was—better. Later.”

“Later,” Haruka repeated sullenly—‘later’ would have been in the Med Bay, when Rin and Gou had run into Yamazaki a second time. He’d been all Gou could talk about over dinner, his presence in her mind overshadowing even the Kaiju skin mites she’d seemed so fascinated with initially, which was saying something. “Why later?” He forced himself to gentle his tone, knowing that Rin tended to react poorly when he felt threatened. “Why not initially?”

Rin drew his knees to his chest, pressing his back against the wall behind them and tilting his head up, eyes closed. “…It’s…stupid.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Haruka offered, and this drew a small smile, with Rin listing to the side to bump their shoulders. “But try me anyway.”

A soft sigh of defeat, and then: “…He knows me.” He shook his head. “I mean—knows the original. _Knows_ him, really.”

“…You’re worried he’ll realize something’s off?”

“No,” Rin protested. “I’m worried he _won’t_.” And even in the dim light, features lit only by the flickering of the mute TV, Rin must have read the confusion on his face, for he pressed on, “He told me, in the Med Bay—he said, ‘There’s the Rin I know.’ He talked to me, interacted with me—and…” He wiped a hand over his face, sighing. “…Did you know he had a sister?”

“Yamazaki?”

“Matsuoka.”

Haruka blinked silently—of course he hadn’t known, but he suspected the question had been rhetorical.

Rin shifted around, unusually fidgety, and settled his head into Haruka’s lap, rolling onto his side and curling around his body. “Her name—get this—was _Gou_. What’re the odds?” Haruka didn’t know, and he didn’t care to calculate them, concerned he wouldn’t like the outcome. “I stole his family, and now I’m apparently stealing his friends. I’m taking over his life—the one he never got to live. And just…” He curled his fingers in the hem of Haruka’s shirt where it fell down around him. “…it feels wrong. I don’t feel bad—that he died, that I survived. But I don’t want his life. I want my own.” His voice was strained when he added, “I fucking fought for it; I _deserve_ it.”

Haruka wasn’t going to argue—but he didn’t have anything further to add, so he just allowed, “…Maybe you should talk to Makoto about it.”

Rin just snorted, incredulous. “Some help _you_ are. No wise words of advice?”

“A few laps in the natatorium usually helps me clear my head.”

“Lucky son of a…” Rin started, before trailing off, then he muttered softly, “…I should feel bad that he died, shouldn’t I? That’s the human thing to feel, right?”

Haruka could feel, like a live current beneath the words, that Rin wasn’t just asking about _Matsuoka Rin_ , that this wasn’t about one instance of bitter pettiness outweighing respect for the dead but something larger Rin was avoiding facing, but he just shrugged, “I guess.” He didn’t want to think about how Rin’s inability to feel pain over the loss of this particular life stemmed from Haruka’s own lack of empathy on this matter—an empty echo.

“…I guess I do, kind of,” Rin allowed, hesitating and unsure. “I just thought…it’d feel more familiar. Guilt.” He rolled onto his back, staring up at Haruka. “…Humans sure have a lot of subtle emotions. It sucks. I’m never gonna get the hang of this.”

“I’ve been a human longer than you have, and I’m still working on it.”

Rin snorted, exhaustion in his tone. ”Well that just fills me with confidence.”

Haruka stroked a clump of hair behind his ear, taking in the way Rin’s eyes fluttered closed and he turned into the touch. “…You should talk to Makoto, though. An unbiased ear may help—and he’s not the Chief Psych Analyst for nothing.”

“Mm…” Rin agreed sleepily. “Maybe after the meeting in the morning…” He seemed to drift off, chest rising and falling in a slow, constant rhythm for a few long moments, until he broke it, brows cinching in confusion: “…Hey, did Hazuki ever track you down to brief you about some Plasmacaster?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Ugh—” Rin made a face and shook his head sharply, gingerly setting the mug back onto the table before them and giving it a little shove to put it out of his reach, lest he be tempted to try another sip. “Just because the Jaegers run on engine oil doesn’t mean their Pilots do, too. Can we get some real coffee in here one of these days? Or is that another ‘contribution to the war effort’?”

Haruka calmly sipped his barley tea, eyes closed as he inhaled the aroma—it drowned out the bitter, acrid stench of the coffee for a few blissful moments. “All our Jaegers are nuclear; you know that.”

“Oh—but the engine blocks still run on diesel,” Makoto rejoined helpfully, sliding into the seat to Haruka’s right. His eyes were a bit bleary behind the reading glasses he wore, and he seemed to be giving off a nervous energy, echoes of unease distracting Haruka from his tea. Before Haruka could call him on it, though, he cleared his throat and leaned over to address Rin: “Still, I don’t think the coffee’s that bad?”

“I’d rather drink Kaiju Blue,” Rin groused, eyeing the mug with undisguised disdain where it sat still steaming in the middle of the table.

“Now here’s a question—” Makoto continued, “would that make you a vampire, then?”

“He’s not _technically_ a Kaiju—he only shares some genetic markers with them.” Amakata was as usual far too perky and sharp of mind for a morning meeting. “Would we be vampires if we drank ape blood?” she reasoned.

The door slammed open, and Marshal Sasabe strode in, eyeing all present with some consternation as he slapped a sheaf of papers onto the table and took his seat at the head. “Do I want to know how this discussion started?” None responded, merely sitting up straighter in their seats and directing their gazes elsewhere. “Better.” With a sigh, he flipped to the top sheet of the stack of papers he’d hauled in, running his eyes over the contents. “…Dammit, did we seriously sign off on an I19 for Hazuki?”

All present shared nervous, confused glances with one another, but the Marshal didn’t seem to care for a response, huffing loudly and shoving the papers to the side as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat. “All right—I haven’t exactly been looking forward to this meeting, so if it’s all the same to you, I’m just gonna get it over with.” He licked his lips. “It’s no secret that in the past few months, Kaiju attacks have been on the rise again. Certainly nothing on the scale of what we were dealing with before—well, _before_. But any Kaiju attack is a devastating one, I don’t think I need to remind you all. The smaller cities being attacked don’t have Shatterdomes near enough to sortie Strike Teams in time to give them any reasonable chance of surviving the encounter, and we’re being ripped apart bit by bit out there.”

He wiped a hand over his face, pausing to take a breath, and Haruka sat a little stiffer in his seat, wincing at the bitter gall of reluctance he could feel falling from the Marshal’s words. “Any loss of human life—no matter how small—is inexcusable in this war. We’re all aware of that, I think.” The Marshal leaned forward, elbows on the table, pausing only a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’ve been informed by the Conference that…too much funding has been invested in the Omega Free program to let it lie fallow, as we have. They’re insisting—ordering, really—that we either start it up again, or ship her off to another Shatterdome. Probably Hong Kong.” He made a face, like Hong Kong was an _insult_. “And I’m not letting the latter happen.”

When the Marshal’s gaze fell upon him and Rin, Haruka felt an uneasy sense of foreboding ripple through him, stem to stern; if Sasabe was just going to insist they help out in training up a new pair of pilots, then there was no reason to bring the two of them in on this meeting. A simple memo would have sufficed. Which meant they weren’t here merely as a sounding board.

“…Sir…” he started to protest, but his voice sounded weak, faint—almost broken, and he swallowed thickly.

“You know what I’m going to have to ask—” But Haruka was already shaking his head, heat rising and gaze flicking to the other faces around the table, seeking support. “We need you two to get back on the horse.”

“ _Sir_ —” he tried again, but was stopped this time by a soft, sharp _”Haru,”_ that came, inexplicably, from _Makoto_ —and realization finally dawned.

This wasn’t a meeting. This was an ambush.

The Marshal held a hand out, palm up and open as he waited for Amakata to pass him a folder. “Now—I know. I know we sidelined you both, because of…well, the thing. With the Hivemind and whatnot. _However_ —we know Matsuoka can still enter a Drift just fine, seeing as I had the distinct pleasure of being inside his head for a period of time and it didn’t bring the Anteverse crashing down around us.”

“With all links now destroyed between Matsuoka and the Precursors,” Amakata took over here, her voice a bit more strained than usual as she tried not to trip over her words, “we’re confident that putting him back into Omega Free shouldn’t cause any issues.”

“Him,” Haruka repeated blankly, and he shrugged off the gentle buzz that vibrated at his core as Rin reflected Haruka’s own building irritation back his way—reminding him to rein it in, to get control of himself.

“…Yeah, him,” the Marshal confirmed with a nod, lips pursed. “Him, not you.”

“Well—not _exactly_ ‘not you’, though,” Amakata jumped in, eager to reassure, and her words started to come more quickly now, her cheeks flushing less with shame at having been caught working behind their backs, as it were, and more with excitement as she directed her words to Haruka. “You see—it was Matsuoka’s connection to the Hivemind itself which allowed him to tolerate Drifting with you in the first place. According to your files, you tend to overwhelm Partners—and of course that’s not your fault, not at all, but it does tend to…make things sticky?” She paused, brows raised hopefully and likely waiting for Haruka to agree or offer something by way of understanding, but when he continued to pin her with a silent glare, she continued with less confidence.

“But—with the apparent destruction of those connections, and given that Matsuoka was able to establish a stable connection with the Marshal, with no adverse events…” Her expression betrayed the pity she was trying to keep from her voice, “Well, we have to assume that this means…that should we attempt to establish a Drift between the two of you now…he’ll react in the same manner as previous Partners. Which is to say…poorly.”

 _Poorly_. There was an understatement. He’d certainly never sent anyone into a fit or subjected them to neural damage severe enough to merit coining a whole new _term_ —but he’d seen the way Makoto had reacted, all eager and desperate to _make it work_ , before practically drowning in their Drift just like the rest and subsequently shying away from even the shallow connections established during Pons training, retreating to the safe shores of Analyst studies.

Makoto’s disappointment and self-loathing following their failed Drift had been bitter enough to swallow; what he would feel from Rin…would be unbearable, in every respect.

“So—“ The Marshal clapped his hands together with some finality. “We next asked ourselves how the heck we could get this hunk of metal running again when we couldn’t get her Pilots to Drift? Sure, we could jump through hoops to find a new, feasible pair—maybe scour the ranks of the more promising recruits, find a few just green enough and hungry enough for glory they’ll hop into a Conn-Pod, no questions asked. But that’ll take time—and with these Kaiju mobbing like gnats now, the Conference is licking their chops, ready to ship Omega Free across the East China See at the _slightest_ hint we might not be fully prepared to press ahead with operations.”

They were talking in circles, weaving a story to make the both of them see that, whatever suggestion they were about to present, it was one they’d drawn up only after exhausting _all_ other options. Which did not bode well at all.

“Now, we thought initially that maybe- _maybe_ , mind you—we could…use your little one somehow.” He snapped his fingers, brows raised sympathetically. “Gou-chan, is it?” Haruka felt his stomach drop, a void gaping in his midsection and trying to suck his heart down into it. “And she could’ve been the perfect candidate; as I understand it, you two could fill her head with all the how-to knowledge with regards to actually _piloting_ , much more quickly than it’d take to find a new Drift Compatible partner for Matsuoka and bring them up to speed on Omega Free’s handling—” The Marshal waved off the idea, though, as if physically batting it away, “But even with the way she’s growing like a weed, Amakata’s confident she won’t be physically capable of handling herself in a Conn-Pod for at least another couple of years, and I believe this Collective you three’ve got set up is better for long-term learning, not in-the-moment reaction, right? So we pretty much shelved that idea instantly.”

Haruka’s vision went white—and then purple, starbursts of rage blinding him as he felt a wave of _seething_ anger well up within, rising like biting bile up his throat to spew obscenities and _how dare you even think of_ —

But something tugged sharply at him, tight bands like tentacles wrapping and squeezing and holding until he had to abandon the rage, a lead weight pulling him down and grounding him again in the dark, calm deep. He glanced down, finding Rin’s white-knuckled fingers clenched about his wrist, and Haruka just stared at the point of contact, blank and empty as everything left him again. The familiar, sick sense of _wrong_ from emotions that weren’t his own being forced onto him, shoving out the rage and replacing it with dead, inhuman calm, made him want to whimper in frustration—because he wanted the rage _back_.

 _“We thought we could use your little one,”_ they’d said—like she was just another weapon lining the shelves in Hazuki’s garage, a shiny new toy to exploit and toss aside when she outgrew her usefulness. And that was everything he feared; he wasn’t stupid, he knew they were living on borrowed time with her, that all of Amakata’s “babysitting” was merely an excuse to study her without Haruka or Rin hovering—but it was still _too soon_ , and he’d thought, stupidly, they might cut her a break. Might give her a few years to grow and mature and live life as normally and carefree as possible in this day and age.

But no; forget that she was as human as any of them, forget that she was just a _child_ and had only ever seen Kaiju in old footage from skirmishes past, forget that _she was his, and Rin’s—not PPDC property_. If she was usable, she was useful. They’d only “shelved the idea” because her frame was too tiny to operate a Conn-Pod, not because it wasn’t something you charged a _child_ with handling, regardless of the know-how stuffed inside her skull.

But try as he might to recall that rage and offense, he couldn’t; it was like trying to fill a sieve, and everything just kept flowing out, leaving him empty. He couldn’t even muster the _revulsion_ he knew he ought to be feeling at the unwarranted invasion of his mind—when Rin’s fingers relaxed, gentling to slide down and lace between his own with sweaty palms flush together as he commanded low and soft in a voice that betrayed just how tentative his own restraint was at the moment, “Get it together.”

Haruka felt his expression twist, mangled in shock at the eerie calm Rin was projecting, and he searched that face for some explanation—but found only hard lines and tension, levees straining to hold back the surge of emotion that Haruka had welcomed.

And it was only now that he realized what he’d done; Haruka knew emotion, knew how to navigate the complex waterways of his own mind and others’, how to push aside or redirect, to divert and channel. But Rin _didn’t_ ; he could bear it, could avoid being overwhelmed, but that didn’t mean he knew what it _meant_ or how to react. He was an echo chamber, with the loud gonging roar of Haruka’s rage and frustration bouncing over the thread and off his mental walls, a rising crescendo that Rin was not only managing to dampen—albeit barely—but was _draining away_ , or trying to at least. Haruka was supposed to be the one who introduced him to emotion, told him what it meant and how to treat it—and here he was shoving this new experience down Rin’s throat and acting shocked when he gagged on it and reacted in self-defense.

Instantly contrite but bereft of the energy to fight further, he protested, “They were going to _use her_.”

“Right,” Rin responded grimly. “ _Were_ going to. They’re not now. Let’s move on.” And Haruka might have been shocked, could feel—far away—the urge to just _punch_ Rin for being so blasé about this. Except he knew it wasn’t real, that the rage was there in Rin too, bubbling just under the surface but amplified ten-fold over Haruka’s own emotions and lacking the experience or command to deal with them adequately. When Rin let loose, it would be awesome and destructive, and they both understood that couldn’t be here, couldn’t be right now.

So he tempered his rage and instead let himself get lost in the confusing maze of _betrayal_ , wandering in circles as he tried to piece together why Amakata-sensei and Makoto had never _said_ anything. Amakata-sensei had advised the Marshal directly, and Makoto—well, Makoto wasn’t even meeting his gaze just now, which spoke volumes. He understood, on some level, that they had likely been under orders not to say anything, that their personal relationships with Haruka and Rin _had_ to be superseded by the job.

But still, it hurt. He’d confided his and Rin’s deepest, darkest secrets to these people, and yet so long as this war raged, there would be a line between them. A line that must be crossed from time to time, beyond which lay ends which would, hopefully, justify the means taken to reach them. Makoto was his best friend, someone he’d signed his life away to protect—but Makoto was also Chief Psych Analyst who was duty-bound to give his honest opinion on the best course of action to take. Amakata-sensei snuck Gou treats from the Commissary (against his and Rin’s wishes, naturally) and let her sample cocoa brewed using a lab setup of beakers and burners—but she was also Chief K-Science Officer, charged with advising the Marshal on how to optimally use the tools (no matter how cute or endearing they might seem) in their possession.

This was all their fault, and yet neither of their faults.

It was only belatedly that he realized the Marshal had started speaking again, and he snapped back to attention like a rubber band stretched near to breaking, spine going stiff and straight. “Sir?”

The Marshal sighed his irritation, but seemed to gather that he’d pushed his limits with Haruka and Rin and was best served granting them some patience. “Like I said, we started looking for different routes, other…options, as it were.” And now things were starting to sound foreboding again, that uneasy sense that the Marshal was dancing around a suggestion creeping back into his mind. “Matsuoka’s adequate, but he needs a Partner in the Pod; you’ve already got experience in a Pod with him, but you’ll fry the poor bastard’s brain if we try to initiate a Handshake—”

“I _do not_ —” Haruka started, but the Marshal held up a hand, clearly not interested in hearing the details about how Drifting with Haruka affected his Partners.

“We can’t toss you two into a Conn-Pod and initiate a Neural Handshake like we could with any other pair of Rangers and expect everything to go swimmingly.” No one objected; this wasn’t news. “So the way I see it, we’ve only got one other choice: find another way to get you two into a Drift.”

Something prickled at the back of his neck, and Haruka could feel the fuzzy, feathery hairs standing on end, a buzz in the air that didn’t dissipate even after Makoto cleared his throat and sat a bit taller in his seat, directing his speech toward Haruka and Rin. “And…there _is_ another way. Another way for you to Drift without sending Matsuoka to the Med Bay.”

Beside him, Rin snorted incredulously. “I appreciate the forethought—but what exactly makes you so sure he won’t ‘fry the poor bastard’s brain’, as the Marshal here so eloquently phrased it?”

Makoto’s lips pursed into a thin line, and he glanced down at the clearfile of papers he had on hand, pulling out a sheaf of printouts. “Because you’re doing it right now.”

The buzzing blipped out, and everything came back into focus—suddenly, it was all clear. He could see their plan, brilliant and terrifying at once, spreading out before them. “Wait you—you’re serious? You want to…use…”

“The Ghost Drift, yes.”

“The Ghost Drift, that you _told me yourself_ was just my imagination? Just—‘neural inertia’. That’s what you said it was.” His voice came out strained, high and grating, and he knew he must look ridiculous right now. When had he ever swallowed Makoto’s failed attempts at reassurance? How could he even convince _himself_ that had ever been true when he daily groped for comfort via the Thread? Emotions, echoes of thought, urges, intent—these all passed freely between them with barely a batted lash.

It existed—the Ghost Drift. So they couldn’t afford _not_ to exploit it. This was the _we’ve got no other choice_ option.

The printouts Makoto had put together were distributed around the table, and Makoto began to drone on about latent sync ratios he’d observed over the past few months and comparisons with hardline Drift readouts from experienced pilots, discussion of training regimens and reoutfitting of the Conn-Pod that would need to be instated immediately. He clearly hadn’t thrown this together five minutes before the meeting had started, and Haruka was left once again wondering _when did you turn against us?_

“…It’s not his fault,” Rin muttered softly, once again the voice of reason tempering Haruka’s hotter emotions. “He’s just doing his job.” And Haruka wondered what struck him as more amusing: Rin defending Makoto, or Rin finally comfortable enough with himself and his history to excuse another’s actions by way of “just doing his job”.

The rest of the meeting went by quite quickly; their input was neither encouraged nor expected, as it seemed the Marshal, Amakata-sensei, and Makoto had decided on their own that the Ghost Drift would be their route of attack, Rin and Haruka’s feelings on the matter be damned.

 _’You’re a soldier,’_ Haruka reminded himself flatly; their bodies weren’t their own, their child wasn’t their own, even this Drift wasn’t their own.

“…will get a Pons unit setup by this evening, so first thing in the morning, we’re gonna see just how ‘ghost’-like this Ghost Drift really is.” There was a soft _whap_ as the Marshal closed his binder, and delivered a nod to all present. “Gentlemen, Sensei; I realize these aren’t ideal situations, and if I had my druthers, I’d give you six months, a year, whatever amount of time you needed to get comfortable with this idea and ease into any newfangled Drift attempts—in a heartbeat. But I don’t have time to order you silk-lined Drivesuits or pad the Conn-Pod in goose-feather cushions, so I’m afraid we’re gonna have to do this quick and dirty. You do your best—give me 500%—and I’ll do my part to support you out there. You’re pretty much all we’ve got, but you’ve more than impressed me already, so even if I had my pick of Pilots…I can’t promise I wouldn’t strong-arm you two into going along with this scheme regardless.”

Haruka supposed it was meant to be a pep-talk, or an apology, or both, but he still felt blank and empty inside, so it was difficult to tell if the speech had worked, and instead he just nodded mutely, and the Marshal dismissed them to their duties.

Before they could get two steps to the door, though, a hand on his arm drew him to the side, and he found himself closer to the Marshal than was likely appropriate, Rin hovering with suspicion on his features just behind them, well within earshot. “A word in private, Nanase? You too, Matsuoka.” Makoto and Amakata feigned not hearing words clearly not meant for them—but they still bustled out of the room with urgency.

The door shut softly behind them with a _click_ , and after a beat of awkward silence when Haruka wondered if he was going to start not-apologizing again, “Tachibana tells me…that the new Ranger we’re harboring has some beef with Matsuoka. You want to fill me in on the details?”

“Makoto didn’t already?” Haruka practically spit out, before recalling his place and biting his tongue. He dropped his gaze, hoping it expressed contrition, and continued more submissively, “Ranger Yamazaki was apparently childhood acquaintances with the original Matsuoka Rin—the one from whose biological material our Matsuoka was constructed.”

The Marshal cursed softly, clearly not having been informed of the particulars surrounding the confrontation between the pair, and Haruka’s irritation tempered slightly. “So he recognizes Matsuoka here? Or thinks he does?” A nod. “I don’t suppose I can hope your Makers transferred memories or anything like that when they threw you together, huh?”

Rin kept an even face, but Haruka didn’t miss the uneasy flutter of the Thread that wobbled any time Rin’s biology entered the conversation. “No, Sir, unfortunately not; we’ve been able to put him off with explanations along the lines of amnesia or similar, but…I feel that with prolonged exposure, this lie will fall apart. Ranger Yamazaki doesn’t look like the sort that gives up easily.”

The Marshal snorted and shook his head. “No, he is not. Did you hear how he lost that arm? The Kaiju ripped it off the Jaeger—and he _maintained control over it_ for a good fifteen seconds after losing it; just long enough to jab it with a jolt javelin that paralyzed the son of a bitch so his Partner could lop its head off with their free arm. You know what kind of focus it takes to maintain a connection with a severed limb? I swear, he’s…” He must have realized he was babbling, here, for he scoffed and batted at the air. “All right, all right. Anyway. The point is—you’re right. He’s gonna be a problem if he catches scent of any funny business around here, and I’d just as soon not have to worry about plugging any leaks in our security if it’s all the same to you. So—” He pointed at them both in turn. “No contact with the Ranger, got it? If you find yourself about to be engaged, make up an excuse and haul ass elsewhere. He invites you for a dinner date, you’re previously engaged; he wants a Kwoon slot, set him up with another Instructor on duty; he offers to babysit, she’s got chicken pox—she _can_ get that, right?”

“She’s human, Sir,” Haruka responded dryly.

The Marshal just shrugged. “Eh, debatable. The point is: Better you seem rude than we have to…take drastic measures. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Rin responded, smile sharp and strained.

* * *

There was a session in progress when they strode into the Kwoon, but Haruka only offered a short head-duck to the Instructor, passing through wordlessly with Rin at his heels as they made a beeline for the weight room, through which there was cove outfitted with a heavy punching bag hung on chains from the ceiling. Perfect for a nice upper-body cardio workout—or for when you just really needed to _punch_ something.

Haruka could feel the cadets’ eyes on them, recognizing their Fightmaster but likely not Rin and wondering what they were up to, cloistering themselves away instead of critiquing the training as Haruka would usually do. But he ignored the prickling irritation of their curiosity and confusion, shrugging away the attention and instead focusing on the pounding, pulsing ire he could feel Rin barely restraining. His quips had died off, conversation dead between them as they’d made their way to the Kwoon from the Jaeger Bay, and he didn’t dare offer any support over the Thread for fear the distraction would cause Rin’s resolve to crumble. He just needed an outlet—and so he would have one.

Rin was already shrugging off his jacket by the time they stepped over the threshold, and Haruka slid the heavy door shut behind them. The thick rubber matting was cool and firm beneath their feet as Rin tossed his jacket over a fold-up chair and pulled open a supply cupboard, rummaging through it until he found a short-length wrist wrap and proceeded to bind his hands.

Haruka frowned, considering urging Rin to pull out a pair of proper gloves—but the miasma radiating off of him clearly indicated that such advice would neither be appreciated nor heeded, so he simply strode around to the backside of the bag to function as spotter. He peeked around to catch a glimpse of Rin now concentrating on bracing his fingers and wrist appropriately—his shoulders were stiff and tense, but his breathing was even. His levees were holding, for now, which was more than Haruka could have said for himself back there.

And then, with a shuddering jolt that nearly knocked the wind out of him, Rin was right in front of him, ramming a fist into the bag with a frustrated grunt, expression clenched in ugly lines of anger. Another hit came— _wham_ —and another, and another, with no breaths or pauses, only force bubbling up and firing muscles, perpetual motion driven to exhaustion. Haruka closed his eyes, took in the jolts as a comforting rhythm as Rin drove fist after fist into the ungiving vinyl and hard-packed sand, driving his anger out from his body, down his forearms and through his knuckles into the bag.

Had this been any of his cadets, Haruka would have stopped him long ago—would never have let him in the room in the first place. The Kwoon was a place of discipline, to come to focus one’s mind—not to expel emotion and loose pent-up rage. But Rin needed this, needed to _destroy_ something, and Haruka had been the one to bring him to this point, so it was his duty to see it through to the end. Rin couldn’t march out into Tokyo Bay to strike down a Kaiju or three to settle his nerves, and he couldn’t strike the Marshal for having the _gall_ to confess how low he was willing to sink in his efforts to land a decisive blow in this war—but he could come here, into silence and stillness, and unleash his anger through pain and sweat on an opponent who would never fight back nor fall. And Haruka would be here to check his wrists for fracture and offer a bottle of water—or whatever else he needed—when he’d finished.

With heaving huffs, Rin leaned against the bag, and Haruka braced his weight to keep them from toppling over into a heap. He could feel the heat radiating off of Rin now as palpably as the anger, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened under the harsh fluorescent lighting striking them from above.

There was a soft snort, self-deprecating, and then: “…Is it always this bad?”

He could have played dumb, perhaps distracted Rin a bit; maybe Rin would’ve appreciated it, even. Instead, though, he reassured with thin apology in his tone, “…No. It’s…just the first time I’ve ever had something…I cared about that strongly.”

Because he’d been angry before—but only in the mildest of senses. He’d been _irritated_ , ruffled and frustrated, he’d even raised his voice on occasion. But he’d never felt this kind of _fury_ —and he didn’t like it, not one bit. It frightened him, on some level, knowing that without his knowledge, somewhere deep within him, these strong emotions had always lurked, waiting for just the right trigger to bring them flying to the forefront, like a bullet from a chamber. And they’d exploded with equally destructive power; he didn’t want to think of the scene he’d have caused in the meeting had Rin not siphoned off the rage and banked the emotion to be released here, behind locked doors, where no one would see what his lack of control had wrought.

Rin snorted again, cocking his head to the side to finally meet Haruka’s eyes, and he quirked a grin. “I’m impressed, then. And a little jealous, I guess.”

Haruka frowned, not following. “Jealous?”

“That she could bring that out of you.” His gaze dropped away, betraying his shame as clearly as the echoes Haruka was now receiving, greasy as an oil slick.

He let his fingers drop away from where he had them braced for another round, sliding down over the bag’s thick vinyl to brush over the rough fabric of the wrap covering Rin’s hands. “…That’s ridiculous. I’d have felt the same for you, were you in her position. If—they’d wanted to use you, when you clearly weren’t up to it.”

“My hero~” Rin chuckled softly, then turned his palm over to slide his fingers against Haruka’s, brushing the pads over the this strip of webbing between the fore and middle. “Y’know…you’re probably not gonna like this…” He swallowed thickly, then pulled his hand away, shifting back to his own two feet and taking a step away from the bag as he feigned interest in adjusting the wrap. “…But I’m actually kinda relieved.” He thinned his lips and shook his head. “I thought…I mean, I worried they might…want you to pilot solo.” He glanced up, hazarding a flick of his eyes to meet Haruka’s, and he tapped his temple. “You could handle it, after all. With practice.”

He wanted to protest—that it was laughable, a far-fetched notion, a pipe dream the PPDC would’ve surely addressed by now. But if there was one thing Rin understood, it was Drifting, so if he felt Haruka could handle moving a couple thousand tons of machine through sheer force of will…perhaps he could.

“I could have too,” Rin continued. “Before, that is. Though obviously it would’ve led to a lot of questions. Gou probably could as well, eventually.” He began to unbind his hands, keeping his eyes locked on Haruka’s. “That back there? That was a warning shot. That was them telling us that sure, she’s too little now, but they’ve got their eye on her, and the Marshal seems like a half-decent guy, for the most part—but he’s the Tokyo Shatterdome’s top commanding officer before anything else. So I don’t trust him any further than I can throw him.”

Which was good; Haruka didn’t either, and he needed someone on his side, now that it was clear he couldn’t entirely trust Makoto and Amakata-sensei to be forthright with him on matters concerning him and his own. “…We’ll have to do this, won’t we?”

“…You don’t want to?”

Haruka shrugged. “I do things all the time even if I don’t particularly feel want to—like getting into a Conn-Pod with you in the first place.” He shifted his weight to move his shoulder out of reach when Rin snapped a hand forward to shove him good-naturedly. “…I just don’t like being practically forced into it.”

Rin sighed, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Listen, I know you think I _want_ her getting involved in this, that I’m just rolling over and accepting everything—”

“I said _no_ such—”

“But I’m just as scared shitless for her as you, understand? Earlier—it hit me so hard, because once I got that taste of it…your _rage_ , I _liked it_ , because it was suddenly the _perfect_ response to how I was feeling just then. I sucked you dry, do you get that? You maybe think I was helping keep you calm, or grounding you or something, but I _pulled that out of you_ because it made me feel better. It _pissed me off_ , what they’d been prepared to do. So don’t think for a moment I’m not on your side, got it? I am _always_ on your side.” He’d taken two steps forward and was practically breathing down Haruka’s neck now. “And I told you before—I’m ready to talk, whenever you are. ‘Cause we’re gonna have to, eventually, or risk getting blind-sided again.”

“She’s—still too—”

“She’s _not_ though. Give it another couple of years, and she’ll be of an age with the greenest recruits off the boat. Another after that, and there’ll be Rangers with Kaiju kills under their belts who could be her age. She’s not just a kid, she’s _our_ kid, and some day soon—sooner than we’d like, probably—she’s gonna have to start dealing with all of the baggage that comes with that.” He tried to crack a smile. “As if having you for a parent wasn’t bad enough already.”

Haruka cut him a glare, but it quickly softened with concern. “I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be a Pilot,” he tried, despite knowing how childish the protest sounded.

Rin responded with predictable sharpness. “And I’m not supposed to be _here_ ; if I’d been where I was supposed to be, done what I was supposed to do, there’d be nothing left of this Shatterdome but crumbling granite and blackened rebar by now.” He turned on his heel and marched back to the supply closet, tossing the wrap back inside before slamming the doors shut. “Sometimes things don’t work out exactly as planned.”

Haruka felt a flash of irritation; Rin was being deliberately obtuse here, for he knew full well that he hadn’t meant Rin was better off before. He’d stopped trying to convince himself of that long ago. “I meant I’m not _suited_ for this—I’m a _Fightmaster_ , not a Ranger—”

“Only because you never had a Partner who could handle you, right?” Rin tugged on his jacket, cutting Haruka a sideways glance. “So what now, Nanase? You’ve got a Partner; you’ve got the skills; you’ve got a viable Drift. There’s nowhere else to run; are you gonna turn tail, or are you gonna do what that title they gave you says you’re good at and _fight_?”

And maybe that’s what scared him the most; not legitimate anger at the PPDC for overstepping their bounds with regard to Gou, not being ‘forced’ into a Conn-Pod again, but being presented with this _challenge_ , this choice that was still a choice even if it didn’t _seem_ like it, because saying ‘no’, raging that he didn’t want to do this, was still a decision in itself. He had the motive, he had the means—so any choice he made now…was one he made freely, regardless of how things worked out in the end.

He swallowed, focusing on a patch of worn fabric in the matting beneath his toes. “…You think it’ll work?”

He could practically hear Rin blinking in confusion. “…Huh? Will what work?”

“The—Ghost Drift. You think we can actually pilot using it?” He’d never heard of such a thing before—and from the way Marshal Sasabe had spoken, it didn’t sound like _he_ had, either. This was a shot in the dark and would very likely fail, making this whole argument moot.

“…I think we have to.”

It wasn’t the response Haruka had wanted to hear—but he couldn’t say he hadn’t been expecting it.

* * *

“…Are you and Papa fighting?”

Haruka jerked almost physically at the question, fingers clenched tight at the hem of the little nightshirt he’d just pulled down over Gou’s head—if the awkward tension between the two of them was now so obvious that even _she_ was noticing… Then again, who knew how easy it was for the turbulent emotions they were both dealing with at the moment to leak into the Collective? Perhaps it had only been a matter of time before she noticed.

He clenched his jaw, groping for the right way to phrase things for a child so as not to unduly upset her. “…No, not really. I’m just…nervous, I suppose.”

“Nervous? What for?”

He motioned for her to snuggle under the covers, pulling the sheets up over her shoulders as she settled in. “We’ll be starting an important job soon, and I don’t feel quite ready for it.”

“Is it with a Jaeger?” Her brows rose hopefully, and under any other circumstances, Haruka might have fondly ruffled her hair or found her keen interest in the Jaegers and Kaiju endearing, but just now…it felt like another heavy burden draped over his shoulders, another soul he couldn’t afford to let down. Her childlike curiosity was no less a barb in his side than the Marshal’s veiled threats.

“…Yeah. With a Jaeger.”

She bit her lip to hide a grin, then burrowed deeper under the covers. “Lucky.”

The faint smile he’d pasted on for her sake faded like a cloud over sun—“Why would you say that?”

She shrugged ambivalently. “‘Cause it always looked like fun for Papa!” Haruka’s brows cinched in confusion for a moment—before recalling that Rin had on several occasions given her select memories. They hadn’t wanted to lie to her, and she’d been curious, so they’d agreed that allowing her a glimpse into their careers—brief though they had been—as Rangers wouldn’t hurt much. “I wanna go too…” She slid him a hopeful glance, as if considering that maybe, if she played her cards right, they might let her ride shotgun when they next hopped into the Conn-Pod.

He could feel her enthusiasm thrumming warmly, soft and buzzing like a kitten’s purr, and he couldn’t help the reluctant, “It’s…maybe when you’re older.” She wrinkled her nose, clearly not impressed with his response, and he snorted at the reaction, reaching forward to poke her in the cheek. “It’s a very important duty; one you’re not quite ready for yet.”

“Is that why you’re nervous?”

He swallowed, then gave a half-nod. “I guess so, yeah.”

She frowned at this, then reached out tentatively to brush her fingers over his, before tugging his hand close. Her grip was warm, the high temperature of child, and she nuzzled his knuckles with her cheek before asking softly, “…Is it dangerous?”

He could tell her _no, of course not_ or even _not for us—we won’t be sortied for any battles_ , but instead he allowed honestly, “…It can be. That’s why it’s an important duty.”

Her grip tightened around his fingers, and he slid to his knees beside the tiny cot they’d requisitioned for her. She’d outgrown her crib months ago, and soon she’d outgrow this bed as well. They couldn’t keep her in any outfits they smuggled into the Shatterdome, because within weeks it seemed she was showing leg or belly as her frame outgrew the clothes on her back. Most parents had years to adjust to a child growing up; they would never have that luxury.

He curled his fingers around hers, squeezing back with meaning, and licked his lips. “Do…do you want to see what it’s like?” Her brows quirked in wary confusion, and he clarified softly, “…Do you want to see what a Drift is like?”

He wasn’t sure why he was offering her this—only that he hated how small and vulnerable she seemed. It was easy to stand in front of her, guarding against the slings and arrows that threatened her, while confident in the back of his mind that even if he failed, if he and Rin somehow couldn’t protect her from all they hoped to, she’d prove scrappy and determined enough to make it through to the other side just fine on her own. But just now…she seemed exactly what she looked like: a little girl, worried her parents wouldn’t always be there to tuck her in at night, and that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

So he offered her this one precious thing he held in his mind: a memory of a moment when he had stopped running and started fighting, so that she could see that he and Rin weren’t marching out there alone, but together—their whole greater than the sum of their parts.

He took both her hands in his and felt an echo of the familiar circuit closure he always sensed when Rin touched him, flesh to flesh; not a Ghost Drift, or not like his and Rin’s at least, but a connection, recognition all the same. That they were part of each other and accepted one another. She would never be disappointed in him, he realized; it just wasn’t in her nature.

He closed his eyes and focused on a memory—relived everything, from the sharp, bitter scent of the coffee Rin had brewed that morning to the subtle vibrations along the still-new Thread as Rin— _Matsuoka_ —had assured him they’d pull it off to the shameful bliss of giving himself over to Rin and letting himself be guided through Limbo into the Drift proper. He let her see his nervousness and latent curiosity, the self-loathing and _real_ loathing directed at Rin, the barely suppressed _joy_ on realizing they’d pulled it off—and the terror of the moments when he’d wanted so badly to just lose himself inside of Rin, to drift away from it all. It probably wasn’t fair, giving her all of this in one go, but she needed a healthy fear of the Drift to learn to respect it, like letting her burn her fingertips to teach her not to play with fire. It was dangerous to love it too much.

When he finally pulled back and let the connection die out, her knuckles were white where she gripped his fingers tightly, and her cheeks were flushed with effort. He panicked for a moment, worried he’d gone too far, given her too much—scared her, instead of reassuring her that while it _was_ dangerous and _was_ too big for any one person to handle, he wouldn’t be there alone. But she just heaved herself up onto her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close and burying her face into his shoulder as she reminded desperately, “It’s okay—it’s okay to want it.”

He practically shoved her away, gentling himself before she realized what he’d been trying to do, and he drummed his fingers nervously where they gripped her shoulders as he peered into her eyes. “I—what?”

She smiled up at him, grin wide and toothy and relieved, “It’s okay to want it! Papa wants it too! He’s just scared to tell you! But you want it like him, you just don’t wanna admit it!” And it was spoken with such admiration, like she was so _proud_ of herself for figuring it out, that he couldn’t bring himself to react the way he would had anyone else accused him of the same. Mostly because with Gou, it _wasn’t_ an accusation; he’d showed her, after all, hadn’t he? You could keep things from the Collective, you could filter depositions, but you couldn’t outright _lie_. So if she’d taken this memory he’d given her and gleaned from it that somewhere, somehow he _wanted_ this, wanted to go back into the Drift, wanted to get back into a Jaeger…

Then it was there. As much as the Drift frightened him, it tempted all the same—like Rin. Drifting, Jaegers, Kaiju—all equally dangerous and deadly and yet still so enticing and enthralling. The siren call of becoming one with another, the heady high of a battle, the grace displayed when going in for a kill—Haruka wanted to ensconce himself behind concrete walls and iron doors, not because he found comfort there, but because he found greater comfort in _other_ places; the Kwoon had become his own personal bunker, protecting him from himself. He’d joined the PPDC because he’d wanted a purpose, had stayed here because it had felt like _working_ toward something.

And now Gou was telling him that it was _all right_ to want more; that contentment need not be containment, and that ripples in a pool were not always a sign of disturbance. You didn’t have to fear the waves—you could ride them.

“…Daddy?” She shook him gently, worry clear in her tone. “Are you okay?”

He took a sharp breath, the forced a smile—no, he wasn't okay, but she'd done all she could to help. He'd have to sort the rest out on his own to settle his feelings on this whole matter. "Better," he allowed, and this seemed to soothe her, for she allowed him to readjust the blanket and flick the bedside lamp off, tittering softly when he ruffled her hair and kissed her forehead before creeping out of the room and sliding the door shut behind him.

He wasn't too terribly surprised to find Rin lounging against the wall just outside the room, arms crossed over his chest and staring intently at the ground. When Haruka entered his peripheral vision, he stood up straight, hands going into his pockets before drawing out again, as if trying to determine which pose looked the least guilty. "Ah...I was gonna come and wish her goodnight, then I...heard you talking."

Haruka stared at him, expression even, before allowing, "...So instead you decided to eavesdrop?" If it was possible to look even more guilty, Rin was managing it just now, and while he hadn't been serious in his accusation, it was clear Rin was still stinging from their earlier dust-up, so he cut him some slack. "...It's fine. I knew you were there." He hadn't, actually, but it would make Rin feel better, and he didn't really mind anything they'd discussed being overheard. He'd started to get used to no longer having secrets between the three of them.

Rin ducked his head in apology, and when Haruka headed for the bathroom to start washing up for bed, Rin fell into step traipsing after him, halting just at the threshold and looking very much like he wanted to say something for a few long moments, before finally giving in: "Did...was she right?"

Haru flicked a glance up from where he was hunched over the sink, toothbrush in one hand and tube of paste in the other. "About?"

"Just...do you...do you _want_ it?"

 _"It's okay to want it!"_ she'd assured him, relief evident in her voice, because she'd been nakedly exposed to Haruka's misgivings and uncertainties but had the advantage of a third-party view, had Rin's own thoughts and feelings on the subject knocking about in her brain, so when she told him it was all right—it _meant_ something.

"...I don't know," he answered honestly with a sigh, shifting around so that he was leaning half on the lip of the sink. It was getting harder and harder to tell what he truly wanted for himself, and what he was merely accepting because others expected it of him, or _needed_ it of him. He'd grown so used to _not_ Piloting, that to do so now, to actually accept that he _wanted_ to, seemed unthinkable. More so, to Pilot for selfish reasons rather than out of a sense of duty or because he'd been charged with it. Plenty of Rangers Piloted for glory; he didn't want to be one of those cocky dozen.

Rin huffed indignantly and strode forward, the color coming back into his cheeks as the oppressive waves of guilt dissipated and were replaced with the familiar warmth of hard-fought affection tinged with irritation, Haruka's own personal emotion he'd come to recognize. It seeped into his muscles like a balm, relaxing, and he was markedly less on-edge when Rin sidled up beside him, brushing shoulders purposefully to strike a spark.

"I recall not too long ago...you tried to convince me that you piloted for others. For the sake of humanity." He cocked a brow in Haruka's direction. "Ready to cop to that being a load of crap yet?" When Haruka just shunted his gaze to the side, feeling petulant, Rin snorted. "C'mon, there's no harm in being honest."

"I _was_ being honest."

"About piloting for the good of humanity?"

"About not knowing."

"Ah." Rin nodded evenly, then paused, seemingly waiting for Haruka to continue. When he failed to rise to the challenge, Rin picked up instead: "I wasn't lying before; I'm on your side. Even if it's the wrong one. Even if it's the losing one. If you really don't want to do this..." He clenched his jaw and swallowed. "...Then we'll find some other way."

Pretty words, and appreciated, even if they both knew there _was_ no other way. Haruka had accepted, probably from the moment the suggestion was made, that he had to stop running and start accepting that maybe he wasn't as satisfied sitting quietly in the Kwoon as he might like the think he was, that he _did_ want to be out there, doing more—in a Jaeger, with Rin. "...Do you think it’ll work?" he tried again, wondering if he'd get the same answer as before.

He wasn't looking directly at Rin, but he could feel that heavy gaze on him, calculating, gauging. "...Do you want it to?"

And with just as little true belief in his own words as he'd had that first time, he scoffed, "Of course." Yet again, it surprisingly didn't sound as much like a lie as he'd thought it would.

He didn't need to look at Rin to sense the shift in his mood, as the warm bubble of affection popped and turned to the rising steam of excitement, and an arm looped around his neck to abruptly draw him close as Rin pressed his nose against Haruka's cheek to whisper breathily, "Then yeah; it'll work."


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m not going to apologize,” were the first words Rin heard from Amakata the next morning not directed fussily at one of her lab technicians.

The lab was largely empty at this early hour, with most of the technicians in other sub-labs addressing overnight developments or getting an early start on day-long projects. Amakata had agreed to see Gou down to the Shatterdome children’s center when it opened later in the morning, as Rin and Haru would likely be preoccupied with Pons Training until well into the afternoon, and while they’d both been reluctant to ask her to look after their child on the heels of the previous day’s events, they didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter (which seemed to be becoming quite commonplace lately). So against his better judgment, Rin had headed straight over from the barracks with a sleep-drunk Gou in tow while Haru had made his way to the locker rooms off the Jaeger Bay to start getting prepped, promises to meet in the Pons Unit Room exchanged before parting.

It had taken some time—hours, well into the dark of night—before his emotions had settled back into some semblance of balance, the raw, unfamiliar rage no longer overwhelming; Gou had given him a wide berth the previous evening, when she usually was practically climbing on top of him begging for attention, and he’d winced inwardly when she’d surreptitiously (or so she thought) asked Haru to tuck her in after he’d slipped out to take a bath. Not that he could blame her; he hadn’t really wanted to be around _himself_ , even after expending a good portion of the pent-up rage in the Kwoon.

Haru had reassured him that it usually wasn’t “that bad”, and Rin hoped not to soon encounter such raw, bitter emotion again. Perhaps like Haru, he’d one day grow used to navigating the complicated sea of emotions he now found himself adrift in. As it was, he more often than not found himself foundering on his own these days, loath to drag Haru down with him like a sinking vessel.

Those with something worth protecting, it seemed, stood to lose the most, and he was being made painfully aware of his weaknesses right about now. Weaknesses he couldn’t afford. Making the Ghost Drift work for them was no longer a _try_ , it was a _must_.

“I’m a professional,” she continued wearily. “I have a job, and whether you want to believe it or not, I was trying my damnedest to do what was best for her.” With a huff, she rearranged her glasses, pushing them up to sit on top of her hair as she twisted around on her stool to face him, the plate of samples she was preparing forgotten for a moment. “She’s not ready, and I’m not going to recommend she even be considered for _potential_ enrollment _as a cadet_ until she’s old enough to make that decision herself. Whenever that may be.”

Rin bristled inwardly at the gall the woman had, once again leapfrogging over his and Haru’s role as parents to place a monumental decision in the hands of a child. He crossed his arms over his chest, frown pointed and sour. “And what if she _had_ been suitable? What if you could toss her into a Conn Pod with a booster seat right now and send her out to defend the Miracle Mile?” He sneered. “You say you care about her—and maybe you do—but you’re not her mother—”

“And parents are the only ones allowed to care for little ones like her?”

“—because if you _were_ , you would never for even a moment have considered—”

“Ranger, if I were her mother, she’d be fully human and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But she’s not, and there’s no hypothetical situation you can concoct that wouldn’t represent its own little contained universe with _absolutely no bearing_ on the present situation.” She slipped off the chair and drew to her full height—which Rin might have snorted at had the mood been less tense. “If she’d been suitable, if we could have given her marching orders in a pop-up book, then the situation would be completely different, and I’d wager that you and Nanase would have prepared for this potentiality long ago. Because you don’t strike me as _stupid_ or _blind_ , so I must assume that you’re taking care of things in your own way—grant me the courtesy to do the same?”

Rin grimaced, but held his tongue; anger, he was learning, left a bitter aftertaste, and he didn’t want to hold on to it—but they couldn’t let these people think that he, that _they_ , were weapons to be pointed wherever the PPDC willed. “She’s too _young_ ,” he tried again, running out of arguments.

Amakata nodded. “Yes, she is. Far too young, both mentally and physically. But she won’t be forever. So I’m not going to apologize. I’m going to continue to do my job—the one I’m paid for… _and_ the one I do because I care about her. Understood? I’ll have no more of these pitched fits in my lab, if so.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Rin grudgingly allowed, “…We’ll be back to pick her up in the evening.”

“Of course you will,” Amakata smiled, then primly hopped back onto her stool and reached for a micropipette.

That had not gone the way Rin expected it to at all.

* * *

“…I…I wanted to apologize.”

This wasn’t the first time Makoto had practically ambushed Haruka in the locker room with Haruka in a circuitry suit, getting ready to step into a Drift he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for.

He liked the circuitry suits—they were made of a material not unlike his swimsuits, which helped calm his nerves. If he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself this was the locker room on 5F leading out into the natatorium—that if he took a deep breath, he’d inhale not the faint scents of grease and engine oil but chlorine and a whiff of mildew, that the distant clanging was one of the officers’ children banging on the filter and not a mechanic repairing a driveshaft in a Jaeger arm unit.

But Makoto never dropped by the natatorium anymore, so the illusion was shattered when he slammed his locker shut and turned on his heel, running straight into an apology.

He fixed his gaze on Makoto, like a wary prey animal keeping the danger in its sights. Not that he was afraid of Makoto—but he _was_ wary now, felt obligated to read between Makoto’s lines to be sure he wasn’t hiding anything, test his emotions for the artifice Makoto would never be able to pull off. Makoto wasn’t a liar; no, he’d sinned by omission, keeping buttoned up inside, and Haruka had never asked nor thought to read anything more into his nervous energy than Makoto’s usual discomfort with their line of work. But he bore his heart on his sleeve, so reading him was no trying task.

Regret, guilt, desperate hope—these were emotions Haruka was more than familiar with, Rin having all but shoving them down his throat those first few months after everything had fallen apart and been put back together. They’d worked things out, made amends, but there had been a time when Haruka wondered if they’d ever be able to forgive themselves for their respective shortcomings and mistakes, both real and imagined.

Sometimes retreat was the better part of valor, he’d eventually convinced himself, and he’d come to appreciate the fine art of Not Discussing Things—and Makoto had always been the same. Content to let Haruka be Haruka. _Had_ been, that is. Psych Analysts couldn’t let their charges keep everything bottled up, he supposed, and in these past few years, Makoto had developed the annoying habit of wanting Haruka to open up more. He never pressed—not too hard at least—but he would always insinuate that he was “available to talk, whenever you want”. As if he didn’t know what was going through Haruka’s mind already.

He’d reminded Haruka once that there was importance in voicing your feelings, even if you thought the other party already understood, and Haruka had made a sour face at the notion— _so annoying_. Giving voice to your thoughts and emotions only prompted discussion of those emotions, which was honestly the last thing Haruka wanted to do. He had more emotion to deal with than he could ever ask for—practically drowned in it daily. If he started discussing it, he’d never stop, because _it_ never stopped. So he stayed buttoned up and buttoned down, pushed the emotion away or balled it up to deal with later (or never).

He leaned back against the wall of lockers, wincing internally at the cool bite of the metal through the suit, and crossed his arms over his chest, hoping he looked bored. Makoto would see through it—because he was Makoto. He would look at Haruka and see not boredom but defensiveness, a wall up that he knew Makoto _could_ break down but wouldn’t. Makoto would see that Haruka was willing to listen, but not prepared to respond. And he would accept that, because Makoto liked boundaries, liked staying inside the lines. Haruka liked them too—but not for the same reasons. Makoto thrived in their simulated comfort and familiarity; Haruka accepted them because they allowed complacency. Anything else was _annoying_.

Makoto swallowed thickly and took a step forward—but not too close, as if he worried he’d send Haruka rabbiting for the Drivesuit room if he made any false moves.

“…I didn’t mean for it to come as such a shock. With—Gou-chan, a-and…the Ghost Drift…”

Of course he hadn’t, because betrayed as he’d felt the previous day and chafe as he did at the noose slowly tightening around his neck, he knew Makoto was not _sly_ , that he didn’t _scheme_. Gou was not a tool to him—no more than Haruka was, at least. Amakata-sensei had a no-nonsense air about her, helpful though she could be at times, so angry as her comments had made him, he couldn’t honestly say he’d been too terribly shocked to hear them coming from her, or the Marshal. They weren’t people he counted as friends or companions or whatever Rin was to him—they could _barely_ be counted as coworkers. He respected them—their rank, and the work they did, if nothing else. But he could not trust them to do anything more or less than whatever it took to win this war.

But Makoto was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be _one of them_. He knew Haruka better than anyone ever had, understood when to push and when to give him rein, always gave and seldom took even when he deserved it. He could be annoying at times—usually when he was nosing Haruka in a direction he didn’t want to go, even if he understood he ought to—but in all their years of friendship, all that they’d been through, never once had he felt…that sense of _betrayal_.

Not betrayal in the sense that Makoto had actually deceived them…but a self-concocted feeling, where Haruka had convinced himself that _Makoto would never_ or _Makoto couldn’t_ , not because Makoto _truly wouldn’t_ or _couldn’t_ but because Haruka had simply refused to believe he might.

“You were…just doing your job,” Haruka allowed, parroting the reassurances Rin had given him. He understood it, but it didn’t mean he had to _like_ it. Somewhere, deep down, he’d always assumed Makoto would put him—and his own—first, before the PPDC and Jaegers and Kaiju. To have the wool ripped from his eyes and be reminded so keenly that Makoto was not obligated to tell him everything just because Haruka freely allowed himself to be read.

“I was—I _was_ , but…” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly as uncomfortable with this conversation as Haruka was but desperate to see it through, like ripping a bandage off. “I didn’t want…I mean, if I could’ve brought it up…under any other circumstances…”

“Then why didn’t you?”

The words were out of his mouth, accusing, before he could stop himself, and he shunted his gaze to the side in annoyance—mostly with himself. He was supposed to stand here, silent, and let Makoto apologize so that they could move on. Not turn this into another argument.

Pain flashed across Makoto’s features before melting into an unfamiliar expression—and when Makoto retorted with a softly bitter, “It isn’t as if you tell me everything either…” he understood why it was unfamiliar: because Makoto was never _bitter_ with him. “But—that’s because you don’t have to. And not because you think I understand you all the time—you have to know I _don’t_ , right? It’s because…because sometimes there are…bigger things we have to deal with. Sometimes we don’t get to break news the way we might have otherwise wanted to…”

Waking Makoto up in the wee hours of the morning to tell him they had a spy in their ranks, that Haruka had been lying to him for weeks, was not the way Haruka might have wanted to confess Rin’s lineage—not that he’d ever wanted to at all—but he hadn’t had a choice. They both understood that. Makoto hadn’t really had a choice either in this matter, he supposed. It didn’t stop it from hurting, though.

But what did that mean, then? How many more secrets were there that Makoto _wanted_ to tell him now but couldn’t, for one reason or another? How was he supposed to _trust_ —

“I’m _on your side_ , Haru-chan. You know I am. I’ll _always_ be on your side.”

It was the second time in as many days that someone had felt the need to remind Haruka of that fact; that there were sides aplenty, and of all the corners Makoto could stand in, he had chosen Haruka’s. Would _continue_ to choose it.

He couldn’t trust that Makoto would confide every little detail or secret in him. Not anymore. But this he could still trust; Makoto was still a wall that would be at his back, and he could either view it as an impediment blocking escape or a supporting strength to lean on.

He swallowed, then took a step forward, keeingp his eyes on the ground as he strode out of the locker room with a backwards tossed, “…I know.”

* * *

The pair of Strike Troopers stationed at the entrance to the Pons Unit room was not exactly the most subtle way of ensuring privacy, but they did the job—the entire room was empty, save a gaggle of personnel flocking around a pair of units at the far end of the hall. It was a smaller group than usual—and most were familiar in face by now if not in name; the Marshal clearly didn’t want more eyes than necessary witnessing two pilots trying to Drift without a neural handshake in place.

Two analysts Haruka had seen working closely with Makoto before were hunched over the LOCCENT mockup terminals that served to monitor cadets as they learned to Drift in the Pons units, and they glanced up only briefly to lock eyes with Haruka before quickly averting their gazes. He fought the urge to reach out and taste why they’d felt they couldn’t look at him—it would only be disappointing at best and discomfiting at worst—and instead took his place beside one of the pods to await sensor fitting.

Makoto shuffled out of the locker room behind him, quickly collecting himself before bustling over to the monitor terminal to help his analysts ensure everything was in place to begin the testing. Haruka imagined—hoped, really—that the distraction of the day’s trials would help to dissipate the awkward tension—as he himself was distracted when Rin swanned in a few minutes later, filling the room with his presence and shooing the guards at the door out of the way as he made a beeline for the locker room to change.

Haruka already had his sensors locked in place and was helping a technician ease open a Pons hatch when Rin finally joined him, grimacing at the fit of the circuitry suit. “This thing’s riding up my ass,” he groused. “Just warning you, I might not be a peach to Drift with today.”

“Because it’s usually such an enjoyable event, otherwise,” Haruka mumbled dryly, ignoring Rin’s squawked _What was that, Nanase?_ in favor of stepping up into the Pons unit, taking care not to trip over the lip as he eased his way inside.

The tangle of wires was tamer than usual, he was noting, as the technicians fit him with his final hookups; the EKG leads trailed out of the pod, spitting his vitals into a half a dozen monitors, and the sensor currently being pressed to his forehead was the familiar blue-wired lead that hooked each individual pilot into the Jaeger simulator—a less invasive alternative to the spinal clamp typically used to translate a pilot’s movements to the machines they drove. They wouldn’t need to actually thrust legs or sweep any arms today, but the computers would be able to register synchronized intent all the same, churning out readings of their compatibility based on sync ratios.

Gone, though, was the skullcap with its ring of tiny sensors that replaced their helmets and served to link their minds into a single consciousness, the _physical_ bridge—the Pons. They’d told them in training that the original Pons caps were awkward, unwieldy things that had clamped tightly to a pilot’s head, before they’d eventually been incorporated into the Drivesuit helmets. _Primitive_ , Rin had called it derisively. 

Perhaps, Haruka admitted, but at least it had been familiar. The idea of sitting here in this unit, alone, cut off, without a Bridge to cling to when they fired up the simulator, was more than a little unsettling. They hadn’t really even discussed what they’d do—likely because none among them _knew_ what to do.

The Jaegers and their pilots typically formed a tripod of focus—with the central Core of the Jaeger’s AI feeding into the pilots’ brains and accepting subsequent feedback through the spinal clamps and relay gel coursing through the circuitry suits. Under normal circumstances, the full load of power from the Core would be dissipated through both the pilots, easing the burden each would bear to half and saving them from the nasty side-effects of solo piloting.

Without the Pons in place, without that physical bridge, the Core would blast them both at full force, no feedback or sharing of load between them. Unless, of course, they could manage to harness the Ghost Drift into something useful. Rin seemed confident enough—but that superficial swagger was enough to put Haruka on edge; he was happy to worry enough for the both of them, if Rin wanted to be the cocky one.

Admittedly, though—these were just Pons training units. This wasn’t an actual Conn Pod; they weren’t sitting in the heart of a Jaeger right now. And when the simulator was fired up, they’d be facing not the dangerously taxing AI that ran the war machines, but something simpler and safer, meant to help cadets learn to recognize their Drift partners and navigate their link. These units were best for these early trials, Haruka agreed—as if a Drift went awry in Pons training, the low neural load meant any flashback wouldn’t irreparably damage candidates.

Which was small comfort, really.

He’d asked Rin the previous night, in a rare fit of muted panic that only Rin or perhaps Makoto would recognize for what it was, what would happen to Gou if something went…wrong. Not necessarily just a failure to establish a Drift, but all of the _what-ifs_ that came afterward. Would it hurt her, if they died in the Drift? Would she feel it? Would they come back from a harrowing mission only to realize she’d been practically there with them the whole time? If a kaiju took off their arm, did they risk _her_ feeling it as keenly as if she'd been piloting the Jaeger herself?

“Of course not,” Rin had smiled and responded far too easily, snorting, “ _I_ never felt it when any of the Kaiju were killed, after all. Even the ones I took down myself.” It hadn’t made him feel much better; after all, they were three, not three million, and maybe the severing of their lines would have that much greater an effect on any given member of their Collective. The loss would be more palpable, he feared, and she would have enough to deal with simply losing parents; he didn’t want her to have to _feel it_.

Rin had looped an arm over his shoulder, radiating calm edged with a nervous tension Haruka recognized as his own reflected back, and leaned bodily into him, sighing to himself. “Worrywart; the simple solution then is to _not die_.”

And that was easy enough to accomplish right now—the rest would be dealt with in good time.

He closed his eyes as the hatch to the pons unit slid shut, cocooning him in dark silence that was meant to help he occupant block out all outside interference, focusing only on their partner and the Drift. Haruka had to make a conscious effort to brush aside the worries that dogged him now—Yamazaki’s appearance in Rin’s life (or ‘reappearance’?), Gou’s staggeringly swift maturation that would see her heading into trying teen years within another 18 months, and the looming presence of the Marshal and PPDC waiting to sink their claws into what they likely saw as a valuable resource in both himself, Rin, and their daughter.

He latched onto the thought of Rin, shoving everything else to the back of his mind, and stretched the image tall and wide until it filled his mind’s eye. _”Don’t watch for me, don’t listen for me—just…feel it,”_ Rin had urged, that first time they’d tried really _using_ the Ghost Drift. Back before Haruka had even understood what it _was_. Not that he really understood it now, but it had at least become something he recognized, was comfortable with. It was always there in the background, the way you never felt the clothes hanging from your body as your nerves grew accustomed, blinded to the constant sensation.

He traced the edges of that image in his mind, one finger firmly on the pulse of their Thread, and he felt an answering thrum from far away, irritatingly muted by a resonating buzz that he recognized distantly as a countdown— _"Countdown to Startup Sequence."_

His heart faltered anxiously—they hadn’t established anything more stable than the casual, latent link they enjoyed in their day-to-day lives, certainly nothing that could sustain the added weight of a third, greater consciousness weighing on their minds. The Thread would snap, their brains overtaxed by the sudden force of an overwhelming neural load, and it wouldn’t be _Drifting_ , it would be _drowning_ —

_”…2…1…”_

Haruka took a breath.

* * *

When the wave hit, he did the only thing he knew to: he shoved it away. He was a rock, rooted and moss-covered and immutable in the middle of a raging whitewater river—and he diverted the rivulets down and over and to the side, never letting them gain purchase. This neural load didn’t feel human—it didn’t even feel _alive_ —but it was massive and bearing down on him all the same, so he reacted instinctively.

_”—vitals are spiking, he’s rejecting the—“_

Something nagged at the back of his mind, a tugging on his consciousness that tensed and loosened in a comforting rhythm, strumming like a guitar string that vibrated to his core and set his senses to replying in a harmonic echo. The gentle warble distracted, blessedly, and he reached out to it, tangling himself in the Thread until he nearly lost himself in the kinks and knots and twists. Distantly, some part of himself knew he shouldn’t be doing this, that it was dangerous—he was binding himself even further to—whoever it was on the other end. Someone was out there, playing for him and waiting for Haruka to compose something in return, and when the melodies combined and the Thread wove together, it would be both a net to push back this wall of _consciousness_ bearing down upon him—them—and a snare, a trap. The worst kind—because he wouldn’t want to escape.

_”—nections are being made, sync ratios are…stabilizing. Still superoptimal, though, and Matsuoka is struggl—“_

And then it wasn’t just a _song_ thrumming along the thread, but a lifeline, a beacon. Something bright and glinting and seductive that invited him to find the other end. So slowly, lethargically, he unwound himself, keeping bits and stretches of the Thread bound about his arms and neck like sacred bands as he followed it, tugging when it wouldn’t come easily enough because something in his memory reminded him _It’s yours_ and he wanted it all back in his possession now, needed to see this through to its end, to link up with whatever it was on the other side.

He could feel it, slipping closer, like a lighthouse on a foggy night warning of jagged rocks and dangerous coastline—but he couldn’t help being inexorably drawn toward it. It felt—familiar. A bad memory, or maybe just an uncomfortable one, but a memory nonetheless, and he _knew_ this. He knew it, because it was part of him, like something he’d put into his pocket and forgotten about and only just found again.

Emotions. _His_ emotions and feelings and longings and secret urges, reflected back as if from a mirror self. Not his other half to compensate for his shortcomings, not a second self to make ‘two’ where there was ‘one’, but an opposite. A counterbalance. A negative space that he could fill—with thought and emotion and humanity, or shove this burden on, _share_ this burden with.

The noose tightened around his neck—not so much a garrote as a leash, though no less dangerous in the wrong hands—and he took a loop of the Thread in hand, and pushed it—and the bulk of his burden—away, not into the ether, but into that emptiness that called to be filled.

_Don’t push it away_ , something told him. _Take it, drown in it, and use this to find your way back_. He had to take it into himself, accept it, and pray that the Thread would save him, that whoever was on the other end would keep a tight hold on that lifeline and pull him out again. Or at last drown with him. He would drown on one end and they would die of thirst on the other, unless they filled each other with all that they lacked. Not two halves of a whole, but two opposites balancing.

A burden too great to bear alone…

_”—bilized! Sync ratios at 99.7%, zero-point-two flux second-over-second. Comm links live; Matsuoka, Nanase! Report! Nana—_ Haru _!”_

It took Haruka a moment to remember where he was—because there was no light, only empty pitch blackness, without song or Thread or beckoning beacon. But there was a softly echoing buzz of feedback from the comm link, and Makoto’s voice bouncing off the inside wall of the Pons unit was demanding with a poorly suppressed note of worry. Surely such screeching was unwarranted, and Haruka let him know this: “…I’m not in the med bay. It can’t be that bad.”

He didn’t need empathy to feel the wave of relief that washed over the airwaves. _”We didn’t expect you to lose consciousness; you’ll forgive us for freaking out.”_

“Is that the technical term…”

Makoto ignored him, likely used by now to these little bits of Rin that seeped into Haruka’s vocabulary now and then. _”Haru—we’ve got the monitors going here, spitting out readings, but…can you describe it?”_

“Describe…?” His brows pinched together as everything fell back into place—he was in a Pons unit, Rin in the unit beside him, a Pons cable stuck to his forehead, and a live Drift simulation in play. He tried to bring his hand up, to yank the cable free, but his fingers were sluggish and unresponsive, like being stuck in a dream where he was trapped in his own body—but before the panic could well up, Makoto’s voice was calm and comforting in his ear.

_“You made it; you both did. It’s shallow, but it’s stable. Though Matsuoka will probably have a headache the size of Hokkaido because—how did he put it? You ‘took your sweet time getting into the Drift’?”_

Rin.

He reached out along the Thread, which vibrated now with arcing jolts of energy whenever he tested it, and opened himself to the stream the neural load had formed. It felt like an extension of himself—a phantom limb that he could see and sense but not yet use, or an instrument he didn’t quite understand how to manipulate. 

He remembered racing, remembered the relay—opening wide and drawing everything in as he sought out anything and everything _Rin_. He tried again, blocking out the crackle of Makoto’s voice over the receiver, and calling out to him.

Rin had told him once that it didn’t work like that—they weren’t _psychic_ , couldn’t read one another’s minds. But this wasn’t just the Thread; this was a Drift, Ghost or otherwise, and there was an oppressive pressure weighing on them of the Jaeger AI’s neural load practically _begging_ to be harnessed and used, not beached in the shallows of this pathetic Pons unit connection but taken out and given its lead. It champed at an imagined bit and tempted—but no, not without Rin. Not _yet_ —

_”You forgot the part where I said he was ‘dragging his ass’.”_ The weight shifted, calibrated, and an apologetic warble echoed over the Thread, jazzed and antsy and clearly ready for action. _”Also, there was a lot more cursing, I believe.”_

And a rush of reassurance washed over him—stronger, sharper, clearer than before, riding the energy jolt of the stabilized Drift. He could feel the _genuineness_ of the emotion, with a conviction that was more than hope or belief but simply _knowledge_. Belatedly, he realized this was _Rin_ he was sensing—Rin’s _feelings_ , so much like something _of himself_ it was almost unsettling, leaving him with an echo of that long-forgotten worry that one day they’d find themselves so entangled in one another they’d forget where one ended and the other began.

Already they were bleeding into one another, so entangled that any attempts to unknot at this point would likely result in mutual destruction. Yet Haruka struggled to bring himself to really _care_. There were real, immediate dangers to address—monsters on their doorstep, warmongers eager to press them and theirs into service. Rin at least was something he _wanted_ , and turning that _want_ into a _need_ would make them stronger in the short-run. They’d deal with the long-run later.

_”Disengaging neural interweave, dissolving Drift.”_

Before Haruka could contemplate what these commands even meant, he felt the discomfiting sensation of a weight he’d stopped noticing lifting, leaving him feeling overly light, as if he might float away were he not tethered by the Thread. He could breathe again—but the air was dense and heavy. Stranger still—Rin felt further away, any thoughts and emotions filtering through the Ghost Drift muffled and othered again, clearly _Rin’s_ and no longer the strange melding of both their minds.

Before he could think to question the order, the lid to the Pons tank was being heaved open, and technicians were yanking sensors off of him and extending a hand inside to help him out. He took the aid, mute with confusion, and cast about—to find Rin also being helped up and out of his tank and looking equally befuddled. The Drift had been stable, hadn’t Makoto said? It hadn’t been burdensome once it had settled—quite the opposite, in fact. So why cut it short?

Over at the monitor station, Makoto was frowning to himself while he reviewed something on his tablet, ignoring Haruka’s worried brow quirk as he conversed in hushed tones with the Marshal—who didn’t look agitated, _per se_ , but certainly didn’t look as happy with the way the test had progressed as Haruka might have thought he would.

Rin padded over, expression as baffled as Haruka’s, before he jerked his chin toward the terminal. “Who died? I thought we had a good thing going.”

Haruka just shrugged. Surely Makoto would’ve said something immediately if there’d been anything of concern on the readouts—or even if it was a delayed reaction, he wouldn’t be mumbling about it with his little cadre of analysts, and the Marshal would be a lot louder in expressing his irritation.

“Gentlemen—fine performance. Better than expected even,” the Marshal snapped, as if he’d heard Haruka’s silent wondering, and Haruka instantly straightened to attention, Rin stiffening beside him as well, albeit with less overt respect in his posture. The Marshal’s shoes clacked loudly on the grated flooring, and he looked them both over. “I’ll have Tachibana CC you the readouts so you can evaluate your numbers at your leisure. For now, though—” He clapped Haruka amicably on the shoulder. “Have a drink on me; you’ve just made history. Not that you’re at liberty to divulge that information, but well. You understand.” And with a wink, he turned on his heel and marched for the door, barking at the two Strike Troopers still guarding the entrance.

Rin relaxed a hair beside him, muttering, “…He does realize it’s not even 10 AM yet, right…?”

Haruka ignored the remark, instead turning his attention to Makoto—who’d turned his back and was delivering a few quick orders to the analyst still at his side. As he drew near, he caught the tail end of their conversation: “…the commanding Watch officer know I’d like to receive direct notification of any subsequent events, all right? If he has a problem with that or tries to pull rank, I’ll have the Marshal speak with him.” The young woman nodded, scribbling details onto a scratchpad before scurrying off.

“…Something wrong?”

Makoto practically jumped out of his skin, whirling around and pressing his tablet to his chest. “H—aru-chan… Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Haruka’s frown just deepened, and he stepped closer. “Why did you pull us out? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing—it’s just a precau—” But he seemed to catch himself, obviously thinking better of his words. “Nothing. There was nothing wrong with your Drift. It was shallow—but it was stable. No casual onlooker would have been able to tell you weren’t using a Neural Bridge.”

“No casual onlooker.”

Makoto shrugged sheepishly. “Well—that is, of course anyone remotely familiar with reading Drift waves would have picked out the fact that your wavelengths were stacked rather than woven as they would usually be, using the Bridge, and any cadet who’d passed first semester Drift Analysis at the Academy would’ve noted that yours and Matsuoka’s sync ratios took longer than usual to fall into step, but other than that…” A proud smile tugged at his lips, and he shook his head. “This may work.”

The genuine relief resonated, and Haruka felt his worries dissipate for a moment—before he forced himself back to solid ground. “…There’s really nothing wrong?” He locked eyes with Makoto, not sure what exactly he expected to hear. Hadn’t they just spoken about this barely an hour ago? Hadn’t he just been reminded that Makoto might keep secrets, that he might have to lie?

The smile grew a bit pinched, and Makoto inhaled sharply, repeating, “There was nothing wrong with your Drift. I promise.” He nodded toward the door through which the Marshal had just departed. “The Marshal had other business to attend to—and he didn’t want us continuing testing today without him here, that's all. We’ll reschedule another block for testing later in the week.”

He then turned his attention to his tablet, responding to a message that Haruka doubted had really just arrived and instead served as a way to end the conversation without any further awkwardness.

_”I’m on your side,”_ he’d assured Haruka, though, and it seemed all he could do was trust that Makoto knew what he was doing.

* * *

Whatever issues had caused the abrupt dissolution of that first Drift, Makoto nevertheless made good on his promise of further testing later in the week, and before a fortnight had passed, Haruka and Rin had sat for five more sessions and learned slowly but surely to wrest the Ghost Drift into control, navigating the additional neural load of the Pons unit with mounting skill.

He was learning to recognize the differences from a hard-wired Drift, though he’d had pitifully little experience in that arena. The Ghost Drift was more seamless—no countdown, no jolt that sent a pilot flying through a limbo of memories that weren’t his own, just a smooth transition from self into more-than-self, meeting the weight of a neural presence greater than that which could be borne alone and drawing on the boost of support from someone already innately linked in body and mind. It was almost _laughable_ how _effortless_ it was—and he could see now why Rin had derided humanity’s hardline Drift as ‘primitive’. Relying on wiring and electrical impulses instead of this more intimate, more _innate_ sharing of self and knowledge…

Establishing the balance had, it turned out, been the easy part; learning from there to actually _communicate_ , to transmit not only thought and intent but to _read_ one another and let that become collective will…had been more difficult. Haruka had thought it would be _impossible_ at first, admittedly—their fighting styles were night and day, and Rin had all of the experience between them while Haruka had only ever sparred in the Kwoon. They each had their talents and areas of expertise, and he had expected them to clash in that respect rather than meld into some singular will.

But the Drift—Ghost or otherwise—didn’t just link two minds, it _synced_ them, with casual thoughts instantly becoming innate understanding, such that split-second decisions on one’s part were immediately accepted and understood by the other. Their halves didn’t add up to a whole, but _more_ than a whole, building and multiplying and _oh_ this was what Jaeger teams were _meant_ to be.

When they weren't plugged into Pons units, Haruka had them tearing up the tatami matting in the Kwoon—engaging in Ghost Drift sparring sessions that now ended in draws or mutual destruction rather than Haruka soundly wiping the floor with Rin. It was difficult to land any decisive moves when you were your own opponent, after all.

On this day, they'd opted to spar with staves; or rather, Haruka had won the rock-paper-scissors round that granted him the right to decide how they'd go about the afternoon's drill. They rarely used the long wooden sticks—mostly because they tended to spar blindfolded these days, the sensory deprivation helping to focus their concentration, and Rin didn't know his way around the Kwoon half as well as Haruka did. This meant that more often than not, Rin was slipping out of bounds or finding himself backed into a locker, soundly ending the match before decisive blows could be struck. Today, though—today was a good day. They'd struck a rhythm, slipping unconsciously into a series of _kata_ Haruka—any Fightmaster, really—drilled his recruits on, and now that they'd gone through the motions for several long moments, it was only a matter of time before one or the other decided to break form and try for a point. It would probably be Rin, Haruka mused; he hated losing. But would Haruka react in time to parry a strike, or would he let himself get caught in the Ghost Drift and follow through, allowing himself to be scored on in the interest of fostering the Drift? It was quite a conundrum: parry, and perhaps score a point of his own through a riposte; or immerse himself in the strike fully and accustom his consciousness to Rin's even further. The latter was clearly the wiser of the two choices...but it would involve _submitting_. _Allowing_ himself to be scored on. And surely Rin wouldn't like that—he would want to win fair and square, Haruka was sure of that. Or at least, he was going to let himself believe that for now. Rin's competitive spirit was catching, Haruka's dry apathy igniting like so much dry tinder in the wake of Rin's playful goading spark. 

He shifted his weight slightly to his front foot, deliberately unbalancing himself so he went toppling backwards—then ducked the staff Rin had swept around to slice him in half at the midsection before bracing his own staff against the matting, heaving his lower half in the air, and swinging around the slam his foot into Rin's stomach, shoving him backward until he flopped inelegantly to the matting. Haruka quickly righted himself and whipped off the blindfold, cheeks flushed and breathing heavy. Rin's frown could have melted acid, and he huffed sharply to blow a strand of stray hair out of his face. "That's not how we're supposed to be sparring and you fucking know it."

"You should have read me," Haruka reasoned, reaching for Rin both physically and mentally, to show him where to grip as Haruka hauled him to his feet. "Or was I too fast for you?"

"You weren't—" Rin started, before tugging the blindfold down to hang around his neck. "You're _enjoying_ this, jerk."

"I'm enjoying having more of a challenge, I suppose. Yes."

"You _asshole_ —" But he stopped short of whatever curse he was set to deliver, words dying in his throat and face going white as he peered over Haruka's shoulder.

He could have read him through the Ghost Drift—but he didn't want to. The dawning sense of panic and worry was enough to have Haruka whipping around without bothering to 'check', and he braced his staff against the matting to turn on a dime—

—to see Yamazaki lounging, arms crossed over his chest, against the door jamb. He had his gaze fixed firmly on them, expression betraying nothing, and he didn't seem concerned to have been caught spying. Haruka straightened, gripping his staff tight—just in case—and inhaled, steeling himself to pull rank. "...This area of the Kwoon is off—"

_"Ranger Matsuoka, to the K Science wing; Ranger Matsuoka, to the K Science wing immediately."_

Rin's head snapped up, glaring at the speaker through which his summons had just crackled; the K Science labs would be Amakata wanting something from him, no doubt. Or trouble with Gou—though she probably would have called for the both of them if it had been anything serious. As it was, Rin was left with little choice but to all but abandon Haruka to whatever awkward conversation was about to happen. When had Yamazaki shown up? How long had he been watching? Had they _said_ anything they shouldn't have—about kaiju...or about themselves?

Rin's panic was rising, and he looked almost comical as his gaze flicked between Yamazaki, Haruka, and the damned loudspeaker, until eventually Haruka hissed in soft reminder, "Just _go_." He'd clean up this mess and be far less tactful with Yamazaki than Rin might. He didn't have the height or bulk the Ranger did, but he had the air and confidence of an officer and no qualms about reminding lower-ranks who stepped out of line about their place in the grand scheme of things. When it suited him, at least; this would be all _manner_ of annoying, but would hopefully be worth it in the end.

When Rin didn't take his leave quickly enough, Haruka nudged his back to get him on his way, and with a last guilty glance at the both of them, Rin made for the changing rooms. Yamazaki didn't try to stop him.

He tried ignoring the man for as long as possible, snatching up Rin's discarded staff and marching over to the bin in the corner where he stored the sparring equipment. There was a set of quarterstaves that might prove an interesting diversion next time, he noted silently, and filed the knowledge away for later recall. He unknotted his blindfold, wadding up the fabric and tossing it into the duffel bag that contained his change of clothes. He'd thought to at least shower before heading back to their rooms—it was perhaps his favorite part of these sessions; climaxing in the midst of the Ghost Drift now was...indescribable. He frowned to himself; no, he would not provide pleasant conversation with Yamazaki at _all_ for this interruption of his new afternoon routine.

He could feel Yamazaki moving about the Kwoon now, and in his peripheral vision, he caught him eyeing the posters and tapestries lining the wall. It was baffling how he'd managed to _not_ notice him watching their sparring session, when now he was impossible to ignore. The emotions were familiar by now: wary distrust, mired in confusion with a tinge of sadness (did he feel abandoned by Rin? How absurd; they were practically strangers). Haruka closed his eyes and pushed them away, the action routine by now. He was filled within and without by _Rin_ these days; he didn't have _room_ to deal with anyone else.

"I was hoping to secure some time in the Kwoon—I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

Haruka roughly unknotted the obi of his gi, shrugging his shoulders to let the garment drop to the floor, where he slipped into a squat to bundle it into his bag as well. "I'm afraid I've just finished a session, and the next officer on duty won't be in until after dinner."

"I'm sure I can find my way around the Room on my own," Yamazaki assured lightly. "I don't need a training partner."

He tugged sharply on the duffel's zip when it caught. "Cadets aren't allowed to use the Kwoon alone."

"I'm not a Cadet," was the easy reminder, without a trace of taunting or riling—but all the same, Haruka didn't miss the cool, sharp bite of arrogance that ran beneath it. Challenging. Had their situations been different, Haruka might have respected the balls he was showing—but Yamazaki had strode into their lives and shaken Rin's already unsteady resolve and comfort in the new life they'd fought tooth and nail to forge. "I understand, though. I was actually planning on logging some time in the Pons simulator—but would you believe the training room was _closed_?" He stepped away from the wall, taking slow, lanky strides toward Haruka. "It's just strange to me—there've gotta be, what, 20 units in that room? And _all_ of them were occupied, when even the newest round of recruits won't be out of boot camp for weeks?"

Haruka drew upright again, taking care to keep his expression even—not because he feared he'd seem guilty, but because he worried a flash of irritation might give him away. "I'm the Fightmaster, not a Psych Analyst. If you want time in the simulator, I can put you in contact with the proper individuals. Otherwise..." 

Yamazaki just nodded, agreeably. "Of course. But then why is there a locker in the Drivesuit Room with your name on it? Despite the fact that you only have a Fightmaster's officer ranking—no secondary Pilot's license—superoptimal sync ratios that I'm sure no one else could match sufficiently to Drift with, and a grand total of _zero hours_ inside a Pons, let alone any field experience?"

Haruka stiffened— _shit_. His records were public domain, for the most part, and anyone with a Ranger's rank or above could waltz into the changing area off the Drivesuit Room as they pleased. Yamazaki wouldn't have had to dig deep to discover items of note concerning interested parties. Why _he_ was one of the parties Yamazaki was interested in was beyond him, but that didn't change the fact that Yamazaki was doing exactly what the Marshal had warned—being stubbornly persistent—and causing _trouble_ now.

"See, what I think it was..." he continued, answering his own question, "Is that you were Rin's copilot. I think you got into a Conn Pod with him, and those sync ratios of yours did a number on him. Superoptimal—you would've overwhelmed him, wouldn't you? Even if he'd been suboptimal enough to counterbalance it, Drifting with _that_ degree a gap between pilots is just begging for someone to slip out of sync and ruin the Drift, bringing that neural load crashing down on the both of you solo." He shrugged blithely, explaining with feigned modesty, "I dabbled in Psych Analysis at the Academy; but piloting was where my heart was at." 

Haruka allowed a beat of silence, before calmly returning, "...Why would I get into a Conn Pod with a seasoned pilot when I've no experience of my own and a position as Fightmaster already?"

"You tell me," Yamazaki practically growled, all levity gone from his voice now. The mask had been tossed aside and all that was left was exactly what Haruka felt radiating off of him in devastating waves: irritation, frustration, and sheer _determination_. "You're not a Pilot; they wouldn't have let you within _ten feet_ of the Pons hall with sync ratios like those. You don't have any standby Ranger rank, and definitely no Ranger history, like Officers promoted out of the field. So I'm left wondering...why he was paired with _you_."

Haruka's shoulders lifted, unconcerned. "Drift compatibility, I suppose. I'm sure it's detailed in his file."

"His file's marked for security clearance—only top brass."

"Perhaps that means it's none of your business then."

Yamazaki took another step forward, practically backing Haruka into the tall metal locker where the student gis hung, and a dark cloud passed over his features. "...I never would have done that to Rin. I would _never_ have brought him down like that. He isn't meant to be _dicking around_ —he's supposed to be out there, in the field, kicking kaiju ass." Perhaps he recalled himself, or maybe he just felt he'd made his point, for he stepped back again, licking his lips distractedly. "...Stay out of his way. You've done enough damage. _Fightmaster_."

Haruka wanted to laugh as he watched Yamazaki turn on his heel with imagined flourish and march back out the way he'd came. _Done enough damage_ ; there was no such thing when it came to the two of them—it would probably never be enough.


	5. Chapter 5

“Oi—get the door; I’m packing your lunch here,” Rin called out, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Gou out of the corner of his eye as he scooped steaming rice from the cooker into a little lunch case. He’d left her cross-legged on her tiny cot watching cat videos on his comm tablet, and the glazed-over look she got when anything furry scampered onto the screen left him worried she’d just ignore him if he wasn’t persistent. “That’ll be Haru—I dunno what he has against just barging in. I gave him an extra card key months ago…”

She ignored his muttered ramblings, returning an obedient, “Yessir~” as she rose and toddling over to the imposing steel door that looked like it ought to take a Jaeger team itself to haul open. She lifted onto her toes, though, unlatching the mechanism and tugging it open on well-oiled hinges without batting a lash—and her squeal of delight demanded Rin’s attention. “Sou-chan brought _donuts_!”

Rin nearly tossed a helping of rice across the room, so quickly did he whirl around, mouth agape—for there, sheepishly poking his head into their room and holding a paper bag that looked heavy with pastries, was Yamazaki. His timing, as usual, was _terrible_.

Rin swallowed thickly and dropped the rice spatula back into the cooker, scurrying over to keep Gou from crawling up Yamazaki’s long legs to grab the bag of donuts he was holding just out of her reach. “Get off of him, kiddo—he’s not a jungle gym…” He scooped her up just as she managed to nab the bag, clutching it close to her chest. “Greedy little…”

“It’s fine,” Yamazaki chuckled, lips quirking up on one side in a fond grin. “I brought them for her anyway—you don’t like sweets, after all.”

“I…yeah, no. I…don’t really.” Yamazaki nodded, satisfied, and watched Gou scramble up into her designated chair at the rickety card table that served as their dinette on the rare days they didn’t join Haru for a family dinner. He was glad to have Yamazaki’s attention diverted for the moment, as it meant he missed the shadow of unsettled concern that fell over Rin’s brow—he certainly hadn’t spent enough time around Yamazaki to have shared his tastes already, which meant…this was something he’d remembered from his time with Matsuoka as children.

It stung, irritating and casting an unpleasant pall over what had been a promising morning. 

Stepping over to the mini fridge, he pulled out a carton of milk and poured Gou a glass to help wash down her breakfast, noting with mild interest that Yamazaki wasn’t taking a seat at the table, instead strolling about the tiny apartment and taking in what he must have assumed was evidence of the man Rin had grown into, trying to connect these bits and bobs with the boy in his memories. Rin wanted to scoff _good luck_ , but these little comments, seemingly idle and unimportant, only served to remind Rin that he apparently wasn’t as far removed from his original as he might have liked. 

“Not one for decorating, huh?”

Rin shrugged, setting the glass before Gou and reminding her no more than two donuts—which earned him a sour frown until he assured her he’d sneak one into her bentou for lunch. “Don’t exactly spend much time here.” When he realized that might call into question where he _did_ spend his time, he hastened to add, “The Shatterdome doesn’t tolerate freeloaders—I’m usually running from one lecture hall to the next. This is mostly a place to crash.”

Yamazaki snorted, then nodded sympathetically. “No rest for the wicked, I guess. I think they’re still working out what to do with me; they can’t saddle me with anything too important given that I’m going to be out of their hair in another couple of weeks, but like you said—Shatterdomes don’t need freeloaders.” He jerked his chin in Gou’s direction. “You said the K-Science head usually watches her?” A nod. “Why not enroll her in school? She’s old enough, right? The Osaka Shatterdome had a program that supported all the officers’ kids—”

“She’s—” _Shit_ , he wasn’t supposed to be having drawn-out conversations with Yamazaki, and _certainly_ not ones involving Gou or their situation. “She just—looks old for her age. We’re gonna try pre-school next Spring, I think.”

“‘We’?”

 _Fuck. Shit. Fuck._ “We—Y’know, her and me. The two of us.” Excellent save—was what Rin would have liked to think, but the dubious expression on Yamazaki’s face said otherwise, and he panicked for a moment, certain that the truth was written in bright blinking neon on his features, or that Yamazaki might press again with questions about Gou’s parentage. 

Instead, he blessedly changed the subject. “…So that Fightmaster of yours seems to have gotten one of his quarterstaves stuck up his ass.”

“Haru?” he blurted out reflexively in question—then bit his tongue, certain he would be better off without it at this rate. He disguised his panic by orienting his attention back toward Gou, who was finishing off her milk with a loud slurp and casting him wary glances, obviously wondering if she might be able to sneak one of the little donut holes without Rin noticing. “He can be a bit…stand-offish, I guess.”

Yamazaki barked a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s putting it mildly—though if you’re on a first-name basis with him, I’m guessing you feel obligated to defend his honor.”

“He’s not that bad—he just takes a while to open up.”

“Probably easier to do when you’re inside each other’s head, too, I’d wager.” Yamazaki fixed him with a calculating expression, watching carefully for Rin to give himself away—which he might very well have done, had he not already discussed Yamazaki’s and Haru’s ‘chat’ the night before over take-out from the ramen kiosk near the Commissary.

Haru had seemed his usual self—clearly nowhere near as shaken by Yamazaki’s intrusion on their session as Rin had been. But then, it took quite a bit to ruffle Haru most of the time, so perhaps he should have taken heart that Haru didn’t see Yamazaki as a threat in any way.

Instead, he’d nearly spit out the mouthful of noodles he’d just slurped up when Haru had informed him that Yamazaki suspected they were copilots and was sniffing around their files. He wasn’t close to the truth, not by a long shot it seemed—but he clearly sensed something wasn’t right, which was going to be just as irritating to deal with. They could have—and should have—brought the manner to the Marshal then and there, but Rin felt he’d already caused Yamazaki enough grief, even if the guy didn’t quite realize it. He didn’t want the guilt of Yamazaki’s sudden ‘disappearance’ that would surely follow any such report hanging over his head as well. 

Rin must have taken too long to respond, or Yamazaki took his silence as confession, for he continued on the same track, “But his attitude aside, the match I caught between the two of you made it clear he could run through the entire Jaeger Bushido in his sleep.” He cracked a knowing smile. “No offense, but he kind of kicked your ass.”

“Offense _taken_ ,” Rin frowned, compelled to defend himself. “He didn’t ‘kick my ass’—you didn’t see the whole fight. I had him on the ropes for a good portion of the—” He huffed, irritated with himself now for being drawn into this argument that would surely trip him up and have him shoving both feet into his mouth in short order. “Whatever.”

“Yes yes, a wise man knows when to give up. No one likes a sore loser, RinRin.” Rin’s expression soured; he didn’t recognize the pet name, but he definitely didn’t like it. Even Hazuki’s “Rin-chan” was better than that. “Still—Nanase _is_ good.”

“…He’s the Fightmaster. I’m pretty sure he’s _paid_ to be good.” He flicked his gaze to the side when he noticed Gou slip down from her seat, frowning as she wiped her sticky hands on her clothes before rejoining him. 

“It’s not just because he’s the Fightmaster,” Yamazaki reminded with a raised brow. “Nanase wouldn’t cop to it directly, but he’s clearly more than just this place’s Fightmaster—what I don’t understand is why he’d need to keep it _secret_.” He stepped closer, dropping his voice, as if wary Gou might eavesdrop. “He’s evidently got the skills—if not the sync ratios—to be employed in the field. So why isn’t he? Why aren’t _you_? And don’t give me the ‘neural trauma’ shit—you said it yourself: Shatterdomes don’t tolerate freeloaders. If you weren’t fit for duty, you’d have been discharged within a week. You certainly wouldn’t be running around delivering lectures like pizzas and exerting yourself the way you were in the Kwoon.”

Rin’s throat went dry, and he was suddenly very conscious of his heart pounding against his ribcage. He’d lost all skill and confidence with subterfuge when he’d turned, far too accustomed now to his whole self being laid bare to Haru through their connection. He groped for something— _anything_ —he could say to put Yamazaki off, to convince him that Rin’s PPDC career was none of his concern, and that they shouldn’t meet up like this, before realizing that anything he tried would only rouse further suspicion. 

There were other options besides lying, of course. He could have done what Haru had: flatly told him it was none of his business, reminded him that circumstances being what they were, Rin had no recollection of any boyhood friendship with Yamazaki and wasn’t keen to start a new one. But emotions he was only just learning to recognize stilled harsh rejections in his throat and kept him from biting out the orders to _stay away from me and mine_ that he ought to have been giving. 

Something tugging on his pants leg distracted, and he glanced down when Gou hissed, “Papa!” calling for his attention.

He settled a hand on her head, a silent request for her to wait, and met Yamazaki’s hard gaze. “If Haru wouldn’t ‘cop to it’, I’m sure he had his reasons. He’s doing his job, I’m doing mine. That’s what we were hired to do, and that should be enough.” He firmed his jaw, praying how unsettled he was by these interactions with Yamazaki wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

Yamazaki grimaced like he’d just swallowed a lemon. “What kind of bull—” But he caught himself, conscious of Gou between them. “What kind of an answer is that? Are you seriously not even gonna tell me whether or not the two of you are on active duty?”

“What does it matter?”

“It _matters_ because—”

“ _Papa!_ ” Gou tried again, tugging more insistently this time and giving his leg a shake as she pointed toward the door—and Yamazaki took a step back, frowning down at her and clearly no longer fondly amused. Rin cut her an admonishing look and raised a finger to his lips.

“Rin,” Yamazaki prodded, tone even and serious as he evidently struggled to rein in his temper. He’d done away with all pretense at wheedling an admission from Rin and had settled for brute force, persistence whittling away Rin’s refusal. “It matters. To me. It’s a simple yes or no—then I’ll drop it, I swear.”

He doubted that very much—not with the hungry way Yamazaki was staring holes into him, like Rin might be admitting to so much more than just his current career plans if he offered any affirmation about what he and Haru got up to in the Pons Training Room. But perhaps throwing him a tiny bone would get him off their backs for a while—so he opened his mouth, the words perched on his tongue—

“ _Papa!_ ” 

He huffed his annoyance, gritting his teeth, and glanced down, being sure she couldn’t miss the irritation in his body language. “ _What_?”

She clutched the fabric of his pants tight in her hands and announced in a stage whisper, “Daddy’s coming.”

 _Haru._ Rin’s immediate reflexive reaction was a widening of his eyes and a panicked, guilty glance over to Yamazaki, wondering if he’d caught her words—which, in hindsight, had likely only made things worse. He met Yamazaki’s confused stare, brows knitting and scowl deepening as he silently mouthed _Daddy?_ to himself. _Shit_ , they’d screwed up now; the only way things could get any worse would be if—

The musical _deedle-deep_ of a card key sliding through the reader at the threshold called all attentions to the door—which creaked open as Haru announced himself: “Oi. Did I leave one of my suits here the other—”

Haru’s boots scuffed loudly on the concrete floor as he drew to an immediate halt just inside the door, straightening stiffly and fixing his gaze on Yamazaki before flicking it, questioning, to Rin. He didn’t need Haru’s empathy to sense the waves of agitation radiating over the Thread—and he wondered distantly if this was truly Haru’s feelings, or only ripples of his own discomfort reflected back at him.

Yamazaki’s voice caught audibly in his throat. “What the—what’s going on here?” he growled, sidestepping Gou as she barreled forward with arms held up and greeting _G’morning, Daddy!_ before regaling Haru with the tale of the pastries she’d already consumed and the ones she was saving for later. Haru blessedly maneuvered Gou out of the way, flashing Rin a concerned glance, which he brushed off. Yamazaki rounded on him at this, dropping his voice again and looming in a manner Rin imagined he used to intimidate cadets. “ _Rin._ I asked you a question.”

“You asked two; which one should I answer first?” he responded cheekily; Haru’s arrival—as absurd as it seemed, had actually bolstered his confidence, and he felt a swelling in his chest that inspired him to rise up and meet the challenge Yamazaki presented head on. The Thread vibrated with nervous energy, and Rin now felt it was a pulsing warmth, not anxious disarray—like Haru had managed to apply some order where there had been none before. They were, it appeared, better together.

“Does it matter? Since I doubt you’ll answer either.” He sounded far more bitter than he had any right to be.

He didn’t need this headache—certainly not before he’d had a morning dip to get the blood flowing. “I don’t want to get into this here.” He pursed his lips. “Later.”

Yamazaki regarded him warily, glancing over again at Gou—and Haru—before huffing his irritation and setting his conditions: “The natatorium this evening. After lights-out for the recruits; we should have some privacy.” They could have of course demanded plenty of privacy in any of the dozen or so meeting rooms of various sizes scattered throughout the Shatterdome, but Yamazaki seemed to understand that Rin didn’t want their names on record as having reserved a meeting room for a private chat. The Marshal might not notice it immediately, but it would come back to bite them, one way or another.

When Rin offered his agreement with a ducking nod of his head, Yamazaki turned on his heel and marched for the door, cutting Haru a suspicious glare before yanking the door open and taking his leave without so much as a parting farewell to Gou. Rin followed him at a distance, leaning against the heavy door as it clanged shut and fighting the urge to crack his head open against the grate in frustration. “You pick _now_ of all times to use her as your personal doorbell?”

Haru’s frown reflected more confusion than offense as he tugged on the messy ponytail Gou had asked him to style her hair into, shooing her away. “Doorbell? And—what was he doing here?”

Rin groaned, shuffling back over to the counter and reaching for the plastic top to the little bentou he’d scraped together. “I dunno—he brought donuts for Gou—”

“That’s hardly a healthy breakfa—”

“—and then he wanted to get into it over whether or not we’re pilots,” he pressed on, ignoring Haru’s nit-picking over what constituted a nutritious morning meal.

“Go brush your teeth; we’re leaving as soon as you’re ready—and Amakata-sensei mentioned letting you visit the wind tunnel with her today,” Haru reminded Gou, waving her off when she seemed about to get distracted by more cat videos, and then turned his attention back to Rin. “What did you tell him?”

“What _could_ I tell him? Hell, I’m not even sure myself.” Which was true enough; achieving a stable Drift in the Pons units had been amazing, but there was a world of difference between the comfortable weight of the Pons AI and the massive neural load they’d be dealing with inside a Jaeger. 

“…I suppose you’d better come up with something before this evening, then.”

“ _Me_?” Rin squawked, huffing a wry laugh. “This is _our_ problem, you know.” Haru made a face, frown twisting petulantly, and Rin’s laugh this time rang a bit more genuine. “Don’t give me that look—the only reason I’m not making you come along is because you’d only make matters worse. He’s not exactly your biggest fan.”

Haru just shrugged, clearly not hurting for the rejection. “I don’t like him.”

“You don’t have to _like him_ —just try not to rile him up in the future.” He didn’t want to point fingers, but if Haru hadn’t goaded him the previous evening, Yamazaki might not have felt compelled to seek Rin out for confirmation this morning. “We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, after all.”

Haru crossed his arms over his chest and settled his back against the foldup chair he occupied, staring off into space as he mulled the morning’s events over in his mind. “…So what will you tell him? Tonight.”

Rin wiped his hands over his face, exhausted already, and groaned, “Damned if I know…”

* * *

Predictably, he still didn’t know that evening.

His boots clopped audibly as he sauntered around the edge of the pool, which glowed brilliant blue and flashed patterns in the rippling water that didn’t quite reach the high ceilings of the natatorium. The filter hummed loudly at the opposite end of the room, the only other noise in the empty hall. They had their privacy, at least until the custodial crew came in around midnight to shoo them off. 

“…So clearly I was way off base about you and the K-Science officer…” Yamazaki slicked his dark hair back and twisted in place where he sat near one of the pool’s ladders, long legs dangling over the edge while he air-dried after the few laps Rin had walked in to see him taking. He’d looked to be driving himself a bit harder than a medical officer would have been comfortable with, considering his shoulder, but Rin wasn’t his keeper and noted that despite any injuries, his form seemed more or less sound. Under other circumstances, he might have even requested a race; as it was, he only wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Rin shrugged uncaringly, affected an uninterested air. “Didn’t seem important enough to mention.” He eyed Yamazaki carefully, looking for a reaction; humans could be irritatingly fixated on issues of sexuality, and he didn’t want to get stuck on this one inconsequential point at the expense of other, more pressing issues to address. If Yamazaki felt his opinion on where Rin stuck his dick was remotely relevant, he was about to be relieved of that notion.

Yamazaki tugged the towel he’d draped around his neck up to rub distractedly at his head. “…If you say so.” He then peeked out from under the towel, the wariness in his gaze gone soft and hesitant. “…So who’s her mother, then?”

Rin paused a beat, calculating how best to side-step this question. “Does it matter?”

Yamazaki seemed to mull this over, then shrugged and went back to rubbing the moisture from his hair. “Guess not.” He slapped the towel, now damp and heavy, over his shoulder and wiped at his face, sighing loudly. “…But why _Nanase_?”

Rin wanted to snort in amusement, impressed despite himself that Yamazaki seemed more irritated in Rin’s choice of partner on a personal level than in their gender. He huffed to himself and shoved his hands into the pockets of the windbreaker he’d pulled on, sidling up to settle down cross-legged beside Yamazaki. “I told you—he’s not that bad, he just takes a while to open up.”

Yamazaki raised a brow. “So you’ve known him long?”

“…Long enough,” Rin allowed, wary of the path the conversation was taking. “I didn’t come here to talk about Haru, though.”

“And yet here we are.” When Rin cut him a frown, he raked fingers through his hair in annoyance. “I…sorry. Just—I dunno, something about him rubs me the wrong way…” Rin bit back an ingrained response of _well he rubs me the_ right _way_ , nowhere near comfortable enough with Yamazaki yet to engage in such banter. The quip must have tugged at his lips unconsciously, though, for Yamazaki still shook his head and dropped his gaze, snorting to himself in amusement. “So how did you meet?”

Rin felt his guard going back up. “I told you—I didn’t come here to talk about Haru.”

“And again—here we are. Indulge me.” The stubborn persistence was alive and well, it seemed, manifesting no as thick, immovable walls that Rin could run up against time and time again and only wind up with bruises of his own to show. He considered that, perhaps, Yamazaki was just putting off the inevitable—discussing all of the things Rin didn’t want to discuss—out of consideration for Rin’s feelings. He might have been touched—but instead, he just winced inwardly, waiting for the coming blow to fall.

Rin drew his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them and staring out across the pool. “…It’s a long story.”

“Well my transport isn’t here yet.”

Rin pinched his lips, straining not to grin at the cheeky tone; it was growing easier and easier to see how someone like Yamazaki might charm anyone into becoming his friend, even if it wasn’t wise. Or maybe _because_ it wasn’t. “Shit happened,” he explained curtly. “He helped me through it.”

Yamazaki huffed a chuckle, settling back to support himself on his hands. “Well that wasn’t very long.”

“Sorry,” Rin apologized with a disaffected shrug and a lazy quirk of his lips. “You only get the abridged version.”

“Because the full one’s classified?”

And suddenly they were back where they’d started, Yamazaki anxiously pacing the cage of ignorance he’d been forced into and Rin keeping well back from the bars through which Yamazaki might try to land a damaging swipe. This one had _swished_ by so closely, Rin could feel the wind off the blow as a chill up his spine. 

He frowned, irritation mounting. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth would be fucking grand.”

“Fine—you want the truth? Here’s a truth for you: I don’t know you from Adam. You’re a Ranger, but you’re not my copilot, you’ve never been in my head, and I’ve never been in yours. I don’t trust easy these days, and you’re certainly not winning it by— _stalking_ me, demanding that I—”

Yamazaki flushed in offense, protesting, “I wasn’t _stalk_ —” But Rin was already on his feet, pacing the edge of the pool to clear his head—and Yamazaki scrambled to his feet to follow. “ _Rin_.”

He reached out to grab Rin’s shoulder, but Rin easily slipped to the side, rounding on him. “There are things, you get it? Things that I am and am not allowed to discuss—though technically, I guess it’s more like things that’ll just earn me a lecture and things that’ll get me shot on the spot, and _you_ —” He shook a finger in Yamazaki’s face, relishing the almost comical way he leaned back, expression both perplexed and abashed. “You just happen to want to know all about the latter.”

Yamazaki batted the finger away, recovering with a huffed, “Fine—what _can_ you tell me, then?”

Rin opened his mouth to fire off another sharp retort—then closed it again, because the answer was: nothing. He couldn’t tell Yamazaki _anything_ , because they weren’t supposed to be conversing. He was supposed to be giving this errant Ranger a wide berth and keeping his head down, because it couldn’t be helped that he had the shitty luck to be wearing the face of the guy’s childhood best friend, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t obligated to do as much damage control as possible.

He shook his head, grimacing. “Listen, Yamazaki, I underst—”

“Sousuke,” Yamazaki interrupted, tone soft and almost hurt as he frowned to himself and took a step back—and Rin replayed his words, realizing that this was the first time he’d spoken Yamazaki’s name aloud to him—and he’d clearly used the wrong form of address. 

“…Sousuke, then,” he allowed, turning the name over in his mouth.

Sousuke ducked a nod, ruffling his hair again until it stood up in unruly spikes. “…I really wasn’t stalking you, I just…” Whatever he’d ‘just’ been doing, though, he failed to elaborate on, and Rin wasn’t sure he would have found it far removed from stalking either way. “Fine, then—things that’ll only earn you a lecture…” He paused, mulling things over in his mind, then tried, “How about a general ‘what’ve you been doing the past fifteen years’? Just touch on the things you’re comfortable with shar…” He trailed off when Rin’s expression darkened and he shook his head. “All right, no good… Maybe something more specific?” Rin didn’t respond either way, choosing instead to just wait for Sousuke to ask his questions—he’d answer when he was comfortable. “Then… ‘Do you still keep in touch with any of your family’?” Rin just buttoned his lips, and Sousuke threw his hands up in frustration, “For fuck’s sake—what _can_ you…” The overhead lights glinting off the surface of the pool caught his eye, and he licked his lips, raising his brows in entreaty, “Do you at least still _swim_?”

Rin blinked, regarding him with shocked confusion—as that certainly hadn’t been a question he’d expected to field. He nodded slowly before confessing, “…Yeah, I do. As often as possible.” Laps with Haru helped to strengthen their Drift, after all, and it was a way of relieving stress that didn’t involve a furtive rendezvous or finding a babysitter.

“Finally…” Sousuke huffed, expression softening in relief. “You went on and on when we were kids about going Olympic and shit because your old man never made it. Though I guess this probably isn’t where you imagined yourself at twenty-something, but…still.” He raked his gaze over Rin, as if taking him in anew, and nodded shortly. “Good to hear.”

Still struggling to catch up, Rin couldn’t help the slow remark, “…I wanted to be in the Olympics?” There hadn’t been an Olympics held in years—certainly not since Rin’s creation, well into the Kaiju Wars—and he truthfully found it a bit difficult to imagine such a grand athletic assemblage, let alone himself in the midst of it. He’d seen video and photographs, read articles as he’d struggled to fit in and disguise his alien origins, but something as petty as human sports competitions had hardly registered on his radar, let alone been something he might have aspired to.

 _’But then—it wasn’t_ your _dream, was it?’_

Sousuke chuffed, brows raised. “Uh, yeah? It was only practically every other thought you voiced—though given that you lost to me as often as you won, I think it may have been something of a pipe dream rather than a potential career choice.” Sousuke’s tone grew haughty here, clearly goading Rin into another snappy bout of back and forth. When Rin didn’t respond in kind, though, brows furrowed as he let the news sink in, Sousuke quietly commented, “…You’ve forgotten a lot, Rin.”

Rin’s guard went up at the latent suspicion in his tone, and he swallowed, brushing off the observation with, “What part of ‘neural trauma’ wasn’t clear to you?”

“Don’t give me that—conking yourself out and forgetting your birthday or my name is one thing. But you’ve always been a shitty liar—and that’s one thing that definitely hasn’t changed.” He stepped close, voice soft and serious. “I understand—okay? I get that…there are things you’re involved with now that are…classified, I guess. Or above my clearance. Or maybe even you just don’t want to talk about them.” He firmed his jaw, teeth clenched in frustration. “But I don’t want you shitting with me like this. You may not remember—but you were my _best friend_ , the best I’ve _ever_ had, and I’d like us to be that again, or at least casual acquaintances.” He shook his head. “But I won’t tolerate lies. Just tell me to fuck off, or that it’s none of my business, and I’ll drop it.”

“The hell you will,” Rin retorted, but he gentled his tone and fixed his eyes on the ground—and Sousuke snorted, nodding his agreement.

“Okay yeah—I’m talking out of my ass. So just…throw me a bone or something? If you won’t let me have my old friend back, at least let me try and make a new one?” He ducked his head to force Rin to make eye contact. “Gou-chan likes me, after all.”

“You bribed her. With donuts.” He frowned. “I’m gonna catch hell from Haru for that, you know.”

Sousuke rolled his eyes. “And what is he—her mother? Send him to the med bay to see about removing that stick from his ass.”

They shared a mutual chuckle at this, and a silence more comfortable than Rin had expected could develop settled between them. Sousuke didn’t want secrets between them—and Rin could understand that; in the past week alone, he’d experienced the bitter taste of betrayal as people he’d thought he could trust proved that there were still aspects of the war even _he_ wasn’t privy to. But until the war was over—hell, probably even long after, maybe _forever_ —secrets there had to be. For his sake, for Haru’s sake, for Gou’s sake—for the humans’ sake. And for the sake of nosy stalkers who’d stick their nose in a beehive and wind up stung for it, if they didn’t stop pushing.

The lights overhead flickered in silent notice that access hours were ending in another ten minutes. Sousuke cursed softly, glancing down at the suit still clinging damply to his body. “I’ve gotta get changed before they lock me in here.” He moved to make his exit, regarding Rin warily. “I’ll…see you around?”

Which meant, of course, _you won’t avoid me, right?_ and while Rin didn’t know if he could agree to that, he still nodded, jerking his chin toward the locker room. “We usually bring Gou by to get some practice in on the weekends. Maybe we’ll run into you then.” If Sousuke was at all put off by the idea of being subjected to what surely sounded like family fun time, it didn’t show in the sharp nod he gave.

Rin watched him leave, then turned on his heel to march out the door, pausing just over the threshold and glancing at the hallway to his right leading back to the officers’ barracks. 

He’d exhausted Haru’s patience with discussing Yamazaki— _Sousuke_ by now, and while Haru might humor him, he was terrible at disguising his boredom when he cared to make an attempt. Sousuke wasn’t his friend—but Rin was _his_ , and he deserved more than just _sorry, we’re history_. The gnawing guilt that reared its head whenever Sousuke made idle comments like _you haven’t changed a bit_ —or even _you’ve changed a lot_ —wouldn’t let him drop the matter.

So he pulled his comm tablet out of an inner jacket pocket as he took the stairs two at a time, tapping out a short message requesting a meeting with the one other person he knew who could go toe-to-toe with Haru when it came to reading people.


	6. Chapter 6

“So? What new secrets have you come to spill this time, Ranger Matsuoka?”

Rin allowed a thin grin, ducking his head in thanks for the cup of coffee Tachibana offered him. He couldn’t blame him—the last time he’d shown up at Tachibana’s door with his head hung and guilt heavy on his shoulders, it’d been to bring the poor guy’s world (and the full force of Shatterdome security) crashing down around him. That Tachibana had even agreed to meet with him at all had been a testament to the man’s good graces. Or his stupidity. Or both.

Rin took a measured sip of what turned out to be better fare than he’d expected; but then, Tachibana had a family who cared for him on the outside, so maybe they sent him decent roasts so he wouldn’t be stuck like the rest of them choking down the sludge the Shatterdome offered. “You know me; I just love having these little chats with you.” Tachibana snorted, and Rin’s grin grew less forced. Haru was right; Tachibana was easy to talk to, even if Rin still felt a bit wary of him. He didn’t prod, and something about him made you just want to open up, like he was a void in want of filling who wouldn’t judge you for what you dumped inside.

“Did…Haru send you?”

“Yes…and no.” He shrugged to himself. “I dunno; he said I ought to talk to you some—”

“He’s not wrong.”

“—and really you’re the _only_ Analyst I can be frank with—”

“Also not wrong.”

“And so humble, too.” Tachibana colored slightly, though Rin found he didn’t quite mind the banter; such conversations with Haru tended to either turn into fights or fucks, so it was a pleasant change of pace to have someone just take his barbs with grace and only return gentle jabs. He sighed. “So…anyway. I’m here. To…talk. And be frank.”

“Mm,” Tachibana allowed, settling back in his chair. “At a quarter to midnight?”

Damn, he probably should’ve at least sent Haru a message so he didn’t wait up. “I…it couldn’t really wait.”

This drew a flash of concern. “Is it…I mean, are you…a-and—Haru…”

“Oh—god no, no.” He waved his hands, hoping to distract from the flush pinking his cheeks; while Tachibana would probably be the only person with whom he _could_ discreetly discuss issues in his and Haru’s relationship, this was _definitely_ not a conversation he was remotely prepared to have. “Shit, Tachibana. No. I’m not here to—“ He shook his head to disguise the shudder of revulsion that rippled down his spine; close one, there. “No. This has—nothing to do with him.”

For his part, Tachibana looked like a great burden had just been removed from his shoulders, and he slumped in relief. “Oh—oh, well, that’s. Good.” He nodded. “Glad to hear it. I mean, not glad that you need to talk about something—just. You know.”

“Yeah.”

“That you and Haru are—“

“I said _yeah_ , Tachibana. Moving on.”

“R-right…” He cleared his throat, making a valiant attempt at schooling his features, and his fingers fumbled at his collar like he was searching for glasses that ought to be hanging there but weren’t. “So, then… Um, you wanted to speak with me…?”

“Yeah…” Rin huffed a sigh, settling his elbows on the table. “It’s…Sousuke. Yamazaki,” he corrected quickly. “He’s…he’s sniffing around me and Haru. Looking into files and reports he shouldn’t, starting conversations he ought not to.”

Tachibana frowned. “The new Ranger? Aren’t you meant to keep your distance from him?”

“I am—but like I said, he keeps poking his nose into our business. He’s… _insistent_.”

“…Shouldn’t you be bringing this up with the Marshal, then?”

“…Probably.”

“And yet you messaged me and leaned on my door buzzer at nearly midnight.”

“Perceptive; they oughta make you a Psych Analyst.”

Tachibana’s frown was unmoved, but his lips twitched, clearly wanting to grin. “I’m assuming you have good reason for not wanting to bring this to the Marshal.”

“Good reason? No. _A_ reason, though.”

Tachibana mulled this over for a moment before slumping back in his seat, abandoning all pretense of propriety. “…You want my blessing.”

“Wha—no. I mean, I just thought maybe you had some…I dunno, advice? On—”

“The Marshal made himself clear, I thought: keep your distance. He could jeopardize your cover. If it’s advice you want, you’ve already heard the soundest from Marshal Sasabe.”

Rin groaned, then rubbed at his eyes in frustration. “Then gimme some _not_ sound advice.”

“You mean tell you what you want to hear.”

“Isn’t that how you’ve stayed friends with Haru all this time?” A flash of offense settled over Tachibana’s features, and Rin immediately felt contrite. “I—sorry, that wasn’t…” He waved it off. “Sorry, seriously. I’m just…not feeling myself lately.” He snorted to himself. “Think of it as Haru’s jackassery bleeding over.”

Tachibana regarded him for a moment, then wiped his face and reminded, “… _You_ came to _me_.”

“Yeah—I did. And I…do value your input. Haru told me I should talk to you, so…I am. I want to. Talk to you about this.”

A nod. “Then let’s talk.”

Rin wanted to remind him not to judge—but then, this was Tachibana. That was kind of the great thing about him. He’d tell you what was right and wrong, from an objective point of view, but he wouldn’t give you shit about your decisions. Or, well—not _too_ much shit. 

“I told you Sousuke’s been poking around my files—and Haru’s too, full disclosure—and he’s…I dunno, I guess starting to notice where things don’t add up? Which he can’t exactly be blamed for, seeing as the records aren’t sealed.”

“If they’d been sealed, people might ask why…” Tachibana supplied uneasily.

“Yeah—hide in plain sight, whatever. I get it. And maybe no one would’ve noticed—except Sousuke had reason to want to check out our files, has noticed that Haru’s not supposed to be Drifting with anyone and yet has a locker in the Drivesuit room; has tried to get time in the Pons training units only to be turned away. Would really like to know _why_.”

Tachibana eyed him warily. “You—know you can’t _tell_ him—”

“Give me _some_ credit, geez. Yeah, I know. And I haven’t, while we’re at it.” He leaned forward. “But Sousuke—he’s gonna keep pushing til it hurts, understand? Except what ‘hurts’ is gonna get him killed, probably. Or thrown into some dark hole where he can’t tell anyone else, for who knows how long. The Marshal would do it—you know he would.”

Tachibana didn’t protest this, which didn’t help to settle Rin’s concern in the least. “…What do you want from me, then? Help in protecting him? Because I’m just an Analyst—not a _miracle_ worker—”

“No, I know—I know you can’t do anything. I just…” He ran fingers through his hair. “…I feel like the crappiest person alive, you know?”

“…How so?”

“He keeps coming to me—and Haru, some, but mostly me—and…and he _talks_ to me. He doesn’t just grill me or interrogate me or anything, he wants to have… _conversations_.”

Tachibana’s expression shifted from wary confusion to sullen understanding. “…Well of course he does.”

“Yeah—so tell me how to stop it.”

A grimace. “You…can’t just _stop_ it—”

“He’s gonna get himself killed! He was _this_ close to forcing my hand somehow before I made my way here. He pokes and he prods and he’s impatient and— _god_.”

“Glad I’ve never met anyone like that,” Tachibana added dryly, before quickly sobering. “Listen—this business with Yamazaki? It sucks. And I understand your frustration, I really do, but—honestly? You’re approaching this from the entirely wrong perspective.”

“I’m what now?”

Tachibana leaned forward, crossing his arms and settling his elbows on the table. “You’re viewing him as a threat—something that needs to be eliminated. And you’re telling yourself it’s for Yamazaki’s own good, that he’s going to get himself hurt. But…and this is just my opinion as an Analyst talking: I’m pretty sure you want him to stay away from you…because _you_ can’t handle it.”

Rin frowned, not liking the turn the conversation was taking. “You’re the one who told me I ought to listen to the Marshal—”

“And I still think you should. I think that would be the best for all involved. But it won’t be the least painful, and the Marshal is trying to do what he thinks is best for the program—for humanity. Try at least considering what’s best for Yamazaki—and for you.”

Rin’s frown turned bitter, and his tone was petulant. “If I knew what that was, I wouldn’t be here, now would I?”

Tachibana allowed a fond smile. “He’s not the enemy; he’s just a guy who lost a friend a long time ago and thinks maybe he’s found him again. Except now he’s realizing that this new person isn’t who he’s missed all these years. That kind of disappointment takes a while to sink in—and even longer to accept.” He settled his fingers around the coffee mug before him, draining the last lingering snatches of warmth. “Before…I thought I might lose Haru. But when he came back—not just from that last mission with you, but really came _back_ , no more secrets—he was still the same Haru I remembered. He hadn’t changed, when I found him again.”

“…And I have,” Rin finished flatly.

A nod. “You’re not Matsuoka Rin. Not the one he’s missing, at least.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“No,” Tachibana countered. “I think you know that better than anyone else. I think that’s why you’re here.” 

Rin felt any hope that Tachibana might have some magical cure-all slowly wither in his chest. “…I’m just _tired_ of all this. I don’t want to deal with Sousuke haranguing me anymore about stuff I can’t tell him about.”

“Well—I’m afraid I can’t stop him from being curious. And how he acts on this curiosity—and how you respond to those actions—is between the two of you. But…I may be able to offer some insight.”

“Really, now?”

Tachibana arched a brow. “Believe it or not, I have some experience with having a best friend I knew was keeping things from me and not being able to do anything to stop it.” Rin colored, then ducked his head in apology. “He wants openness—but since he knows he can’t have that, he’ll be satisfied at least with some _honesty_. They’re not the same thing, but they’re founded on the same principle of not keeping things from each other when you can at all help it. So I suggest that you be as straight as you possibly can with him— _no_ more lies. No more made-up exes or suggestions that the pons units are being repaired.”

“But—I can’t just—”

“And I’m not telling you to—I’m saying lay out some ground rules. Say ‘this is where we live’, and let him think of these things you can’t talk about as boundaries, no man’s land. Give him free rein to the parts of you you’re comfortable with sharing—and I do mean _free_ rein. Don’t feed him lines—either tell him the truth, or set down a marker and let him know in no uncertain terms that you can’t or won’t discuss it.”

Rin snorted. “I’m sure he’ll love that.”

“He’ll like it a lot more than being outright lied to, I’m sure.” Tachibana thinned his lips. “If he knows what he’s getting into, he’ll likely be less inclined to bite your head off about it. At the very least, he can’t accuse you of lying to him—and isn’t that a start?”

“A start to something,” Rin allowed wearily. “Just—what happens when all he winds up getting for his ‘free rein’ is a tiny little box he can’t even sit down in?”

Tachibana shrugged, “Then it’s up to you to find new territory you can both be comfortable in. You’re the one with the secrets—you know best how to avoid land mines. Start conversations with _him_ , find new hobbies to share. ‘Yakiniku Mondays’ has a nice ring to it.”

Rin raised a brow. “I thought I was supposed to do as the Marshal said and avoid him at all costs?”

“You are,” Tachibana reminded. “And on the record, I’ve suggested no different. Understood?” Rin sighed, nodding. “…Off the record, though…I think it’ll be good for you. Getting access to more people who aren’t…well, us. You’re probably still learning the whole ‘humanity’ thing, I imagine—so some outside input can’t hurt.”

“Spend more time with him, huh?” He cast a sideways glance at Tachibana. “Is that your professional advice as a Psych Analyst, or are you just trying to get Mackerel Fridays back to yourself?”

Tachibana snorted and shook his head in amusement—but then added in a softer, sober tone, “You’re human. We’re allowed to associate with whomever we like. If you want to make a friend—I say make one. Bad choices are part of our humanity, after all.”

Rin’s lips quirked up, with a bitter edge. “Easy for you to say… You’re not stealing someone else’s best friend.”

Tachibana’s brows drew together in concern. “…I said, earlier—that you’re not Matsuoka Rin. And I stand by that; you’re not him, and you don’t have his history with Yamazaki. But you _do_ have his genes, you have his _nature_ , you act how Matsuoka Rin would have acted innately—which, honestly, he seems like kind of a jerk.” Rin cut him a glare without much bite. “…I guess what I’m saying is, the things that attracted the original Matsuoka Rin to Sousuke, the things that made _them_ click—they may be at work here.” He raised his brows in sympathy. “Stop beating yourself up over someone you might have been born to be drawn to. We all have our types—you just seem to like challenges.”

Rin could have fired back a derisive comment about Tachibana and his types being ones who liked to use him as a doormat—but the guy had been pretty on-the-button in his advice, and Rin decided to take his comments with grace. 

Still, comforting as the words were—he doubted he’d ever be able to entirely shake the unease that plagued him, reminding him he was just wearing someone else’s face.

* * *

“Heh,” Rin huffed as he flexed his gloved hand before tapping out the command for a Drivesuit systems check into the onboard monitor. “Deja vu. I never really understood what that was. Humans are weird.”

Haruka cut him a sharp glance in silent reminder that there were others watching them today. Weeks of pons unit training, and they’d finally worked their way up to sitting in an actual Conn Pod—which meant they needed more than their few trusted team members; they needed a full LOCCENT team monitoring them. The Marshal had reassured them that they’d have one of ‘their’ NBOs calling out believable Drift readings to mask the fact that there would be something clearly off about their readouts, but here inside the Conn Pod and over their communications, they’d need to watch their tongues.

“We’ve done this before; that’s not deja vu, that’s familiarity.”

Rin shrugged. “I suppose there are _some_ differences,” he allowed, glancing sidelong at Haruka with a raised brow that said he was fighting back detailing each and every one of the things that had changed between them in the time since their last outing in this Conn Pod. Omega Free’s Conn Pod.

They’d reached proficiency with the training programs, earning a respectable 81% kill ratio out of 50 virtual drops, but the Marshal was growing impatient—or perhaps cocky. Either way, he wanted something to show for his gamble in letting Haruka and Rin try to Drift again, which had them here, letting attendants situate their helmets over their heads as the spinal clamp locked into place, ticking off the final items in the checklist before they’d be shuttled out into Tokyo Bay.

The Marshal had thought it exceedingly amusing the demand they run through the same drills they had on their _last_ open-water run; the same run that had spiraled out of control and led to more trouble than they’d meant to bring down upon themselves. Perhaps the Marshal liked tempting fate; he was free to do as he wished, of course—Haruka just didn’t like being an unwilling passenger.

But he was here, now, mostly because Rin’s enthusiasm and excitement for the trial was physically catching, bleeding over into Haruka’s own consciousness whether he wanted it to or not. That was, he decided, the only explanation for his own thrumming anticipation. He certainly didn’t care to test the limits of the Ghost Drift—not without working up to it. What had happened to those simple hydraulic test arms? This was a leap from paddling in the kiddie pool to diving into the deep end—and for once, Haruka wasn’t entirely sure he knew how to swim.

“Hey, relax—Tachibana gave us the go-ahead, remember? We’ve been doing Pons runs at 95% standard load for the past five days, without breaking a sweat. You can’t take a little challenge?”

Haruka felt his hackles rise, frown deepening. “…Don’t get cocky.”

“Sorry; cocky’s my only gear.” He drew a sharp breath as the Pod shifted; their escort was pulling out, heading into open water to drop them safely in the bay. “No turning back now, Nanase.”

“Now who needs to be told to relax?” 

Rin shrugged. “A certain amount of nerves is healthy; keeps you on your toes.” He grinned to himself. “And you need all the height on me you can get. One-seventy-five.”

Before Haruka could deliver a comeback, though, their comm units crackled in their ears, heralding the Marshal’s gruff greeting: _”Gentlemen, so we meet again. Good morning.”_

“And to you, Sir,” Rin responded, cheery report hiding the disdain and irritation Haruka felt oozing off of him. At least they didn’t have to guard _this_ method of communication, and it felt somehow reassuring knowing that Rin couldn’t entirely hide how he was feeling behind masks and clever words. He was the only one who ever got to see the _real_ Rin, and this satisfied the possessive little beast that had taken up residence of late in the dark corners of his mind.

_”Fine day for a swim, wouldn’t you say?”_

“Sunny with a late afternoon chance of Kaiju attacks?”

_”Let’s hope not; you’re one klick from your drop point—so run your final checks and prepare for neural handshake.”_

“Roger that…” Rin muttered absently, fingers flying over the monitor as he called up and dismissed a list of items meant to be reviewed before Handshake initiation. “Just a few loops around the bay, some showing off, and then we can see about a cool-down in the natatorium. I promise to take it easy on you.”

“Don’t make me laugh—I need to center myself for this.”

“Jerk,” Rin snorted, but any further quips were cut off by the drone of an NBO announcing, _”Prepare for neural handshake—in five, four, three, two, one—”_

Haruka clenched his eyes shut, accustomed by now to the pressure that settled over his mind as the Handshake was initiated with no bridge in place to stabilize the link between the Pilots and the Jaeger itself. It didn’t stop, though, the way it might with a standard Drift as the link immediately fell into place and began to dissipate the load. No—he had to _work_ this time, and he could hear the LOCCENT team, blinded to the fact that their charges were relying on a Ghost Drift, worriedly relaying readouts on their vitals and neural load spikes.

He tried to block them out—he hadn’t been entirely joking when he’d protested a need to center himself—and instead groped for their Thread in a now familiar motion, brushing grasping fingers over its taught length and wrapping himself wholly in it with an audible sigh of relief that brought a nervous chuckle into his mind as Rin chided, “Easy there, Nanase; this suit’s tight enough as-is.”

He allowed himself a smile at the suggestion latent in the comment and stretched his boundaries, drawing on the strength of the Thread and pushing the neural load over it as he let any answering burden wash over him, inconsequential as sea foam. The voices bouncing over the comm links started to settle, the figures they were spouting sounding more and more acceptable, until at length, the Marshal hopped on again to greet them. _”Seems you’re not getting out of this, gentlemen. We’ll be running diagnostics on our end and keep you apprised of any developments, but for the time being—everything’s in the green, and your vitals are all within normal ranges. Feel free to—”_

But his comments were cut off as the mic fell silent, and Haruka frowned, wondering if there was a short in his helmet. A quick glance over to Rin showed that he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed, and he checked his monitor for incoming messages—had something struck their communications array?

But instead of any messages from LOCCENT, instead there was a red notification flashing insistently: _/K-Watch Report; 11:37 AM Chamorro Standard Time, 11 degrees 20 minutes North, 142 degrees 12 minutes East. Movement in the Breach. Advise precautionary sortie./_

“Precautionary… _what_?” Rin read aloud. “Marshal!”

“… _Now_ it’s deja vu…” Haruka murmured, still gaping at the monitor as follow-up K-Watch reports continued to file in, citing the Breach dilation numbers and likelihood of an imminent crossover, the numbers of which were rising worryingly. 

He glanced over at Rin, panic mounting as he recalled having lived this moment before—being trapped in the Jaeger, trapped in a _Drift_ , Kaiju tentacles invading his mind and scraping and crawling, trying to drive him out of a place he hadn’t known he’d trespassed into. The link was supposed to have been severed, they _weren’t supposed to be able to find him_ , but Rin had said it—had said they’d gotten his _scent_ , and what if they’d just been waiting, biding their time before—

_”Disengaging neural handshake; all Pilots and escort personnel, return to Shatterdome immediately and await further orders.”_ The order was clipped and curt, and this far separated from the speaker, Haruka had no way of reading them to determine the emotion behind it.

The pressure of the Jaeger AI in his mind dissolved like a wisp of smoke, leaving Haruka to mentally tumble into Rin from the whiplash, and he caught a flash of panic too raw and real for comfort—but it quickly dissipated as he righted himself, until he couldn’t tell if the sensation had been Rin’s, or his own. He was himself, Rin was Rin, and they were back in their respective bodies with their heads more or less to themselves now. Omega Free hummed around them, all systems still go and waiting for a link to her pilots which would not come; whatever had gone wrong, it hadn’t been anything on their side of things. 

_Movement in the Breach._

On his side monitor, Haruka noted the K-Watch notices still filing in—but coded a warning yellow now instead of an alarming red; the Breach was holding steady at its dilation, Breach dilation was falling, dilation had stabilized, no further comment at 11:39 AM Chamorro Standard Time.

Haruka’s shoulders slumped, but his chest ached as his heart thudded insistently against his rib cage. He didn’t need to pay attention to the LOCCENT officer addressing him warningly to know that his vitals had to be off the charts. “…I need to get out of here.” He needed to _not_ be here, not stuck in this suit, in this Conn Pod. It didn’t matter that they were on their way back; he couldn’t wait the fifteen minutes for their escort to dock, he needed out _now_ , needed to get back to the Kwoon or to pull on his jammers or to just dive under the sheets and yank Gou close like a living security blanket. He needed to either be someplace he had total control or somewhere he could give _up_ total control without feeling threatened, and this was _not that place_ —

“Haru.” Rin’s voice was soft and sharp, the warning falling flat in the wake of the worry that vibrated audibly in his tone. Soothing vibrations echoed over the Thread, but Haruka wasn’t going to be so easily settled this time, and he pushed away the affection with a mighty shove that had Rin wincing and pressing a finger to his temple. “All right—geez, all right. Just…if we tear up another set of Drivesuits, the Marshal’s gonna rain down hell on us, you realize?”

Haruka couldn’t care less about how the Marshal might feel about replacing another spinal clamp. “Movement in the Breach. You saw.”

“Yeah…” Rin allowed, wearily. “I did.”

“I thought…” Fuck, he felt pathetic. “It was like last time.”

“I know you thought that—but it wasn’t. They pulled us out, the Breach activity died—you saw it.” He nodded to the monitor, which was now reporting only their vitals and Jaeger integrity stats. “I’d have known if something was coming for us—”

“Coming for me.”

“I’d have _known_. And I’d have been the first person to yank you out of there, you know that. The Drivesuit budget be damned.” He thinned his lips soberly. “But it wasn’t like last time. And you can’t freak out on me now, Nanase. We have to make this work.” Haruka knew that—he _did_ understand. He knew what was riding on this—he just didn’t feel as strong or self-confident as anyone thought he was. “We just had bad timing today, that’s all; a burp in the Breach is spooky, but it doesn’t mean the Precursors are coming for our necks again.”

Haruka wanted to believe him—could feel that _Rin_ believed it, or had at least convinced himself that that’s all that had happened, but some part of him…ached. A resonant throbbing that reminded him he’d been found out before and they would track him down, root him out, _run him through_ again. All in good time.

The pod shifted, the grating of metal on metal echoing throughout the chamber as their escort vessel pulled into harbor, and Rin called out with strained cheer, “There, see? Home, sweet home.”

Haruka just closed his eyes and waited for the technicians to file in, unclasping and pulling latches and helping them to dismount as they were directed back into the open bay. Their departure had been met with minimal fanfare—all Jaeger Bay workers had their own jobs to see to and could spare little attention to see off what seemed little more than a routine Jaeger training mission.

But their return garnered a bit more interest, with what felt like half the Shatterdome turning out to see what shape they came back in. K-Watch announcements were never delivered lightly, and even though there’d been no call to sortie, this was still a Jaeger team arriving back after a red-alert had been issued. Curiosity was a given.

Haruka staggered unsteadily to his feet, wincing as he crossed the catwalk after Rin towards the steps that would bring them back to ground level—and felt someone watching him. A flash of panic rippled through him, mind still caught up in the inertia of the attack that had never come, and he despaired that they’d _found him again_ , that they had finally followed him out of the Drift, catching hold of the Thread and following it to the both of them—

But Rin’s ungloved fingers clasping his own and a worried, “…Haru?” reminded him that the only kaiju tangling its way through his thoughts these days was Rin, that the Breach had only dilated to 43%, and that if he bothered to glance around, he’d surely find the very human source of the gaze falling heavy on him—

And he did—in Yamazaki, arms crossed over his chest where he stood on a railing overlooking the bay with a resolute frown pasted on his lips as he watched two people he knew shouldn’t be able to Drift with one another step out of a Conn Pod in full gear. Judging by the defeated, “…Fucking hell,” that sounded from just behind him, Haruka wasn’t the only one who had noticed. “I’m gonna catch hell for this later…”

* * *

Before they’d finished changing out of their Drivesuits, a message was delivered via a very nervous-looking young recruit that the Marshal and associated Omega Free personnel were convening in a meeting hall and would appreciate their joining in as soon as possible—which was code for them to get their asses moving, and after casting a longing glance toward the showers and spacious hydrotherapy tubs sitting unused, Haruka traipsed after Rin down the hall to the meeting room.

The Marshal was already there, going over a sheaf of print-outs with Makoto in hushed tones while Amakata-sensei sat across from him, glasses perched on the edge of her nose as she peered at a tablet with a discerning frown on her lips. Their entrance only merited a glance up and a hand directing them to sit, and with no small measure of wariness, Haruka settled next to Amakata-sensei, Rin at his side. 

“I don’t think I need to let you know that the run didn’t quite go as planned.”

“I sure as shit hope not,” Rin snorted.

“We did learn at least that your Drift is stable and secure enough to handle the raw Jaeger AI, though—so it wasn’t a total wash?” Makoto was optimistic as ever, brows lifting into his hair as he offered a comforting smile.

“Which was only one of the five hundred or so things we’d hoped to learn over the course of the afternoon; however…it seems we’ve hit a snag.”

“A snag, Sir?” Haruka straightened up; it wasn’t like the Marshal to beat around the bush, and Haruka got the distinct and unsettling feeling that they were being eased into bad news yet again. 

A nod. “Tachibana?”

Of course. Of course the task would fall to Makoto yet again, and Haruka wanted to close his eyes and _laugh_. He just couldn’t win. “Over the past few weeks, during our monitoring of your efforts to get the Ghost Drift under control, we’ve recorded a few…anomalies. With the Breach.”

“‘Anomalies’ doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s…neither good nor bad. It’s concerning, but not necessarily alarming.”

“And the nature of these anomalies would be…?”

“Minor dilation—never more than 10%, and it always closed as soon as you disconnected from the training AI—”

“Wait—” Rin interrupted, voice tense as he strained to keep his temper under control, and Haruka wondered what might happen if he gave him a little shove and pushed him over the edge. “‘As soon as we disconnected’—you mean these anomalies _coincided_ with our Pons training?”

“Almost to the second,” the Marshal affirmed, leaning forward in his chair. He seemed to have deemed Makoto too tactful in his delivery of the news, for he took over here. “Each time we initiated the neural handshake, K-Watch sent out a report of movement in the Breach. Now—movement can mean anything from deep-sea vents they mistook for actual activity to a Class IV ramming its way into our dimension. In this case—it was just what Tachibana said: minor dilation.”

“I don’t fucking care about the _numbers_ —this thing was clearly linked to our Drift. And you didn’t think to give us a quick, ‘Hey guys, just a heads-up: Your Drifting’s starting to attract some kaiju’—”

“We didn’t tell you because that _wasn’t_ the situation. It was minor dilation, not undocumented, and certainly not worth disrupting training for.”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that any previous documented dilation not accompanied by an attack didn’t coincide _perfectly_ with a Drift initiation, though!” Against his better judgment, Haruka let his fingers dangle alongside his chair, brushing against Rin’s forearm and tracing the fine veins in his wrist; his blood was burning just as hotly as Rin’s, but they needed to keep it under the surface for now.

“Ranger,” the Marshal warned, allowing a long moment of silence to settle over the room before continuing. “We weighed the consequences—and decided to keep your Drifts while connected to the AI as short as possible. But none of the diagnostics we ran suggested anything other than perhaps some residual resonance between Matsuoka and the Breach, and it wasn’t hurting either of you, so we continued.”

“Without having a damn clue as to what was going on. Brilliant.”

Haruka squeezed his wrist again, then took up the conversation; Rin’s biting comments, while merited, weren’t getting them any answers. “…Today, though. I saw the K-Watch notices. That was more than ‘minor dilation’.”

A nod from Makoto this time, clearly glad to have opportunity to break the tension and move the conversation along. “We think being hooked into a Jaeger, with its more advanced AI and the greater mental load, amplified whatever…resonance, I suppose we can call it, was being generated between the two of you and the Breach. It may have held steady—just like it had before, but…”

“But?”

Makoto’s expression reflected a measure of unease. “We…detected a signal emanating from the Breach.”

“A signal.”

“It’s not an undocumented case, either—in fact, it’s very well documented. Because—” He licked his lips. “Because it’s the long-range signal detected in the Breach during kaiju attacks.”

Haruka’s eyes widened a tick. “Then—there _was_ a kaiju—”

Makoto shook his head, interrupting with a raised hand. “No—no, there was no attack imminent. I mean, I can’t be 100% certain, but I…would wager so. I said it was documented _during_ attacks. Not before—not after. _During_.” His tone increased in pace as he began to excitedly relate his findings. “Think of the signal as like…a leash. A way for the Precursors to communicate orders to and receive feedback from the kaiju during an attack. That signal was what we detected from the Breach today—as if…” He sobered, settling down. “As if…they were trying to communicate with a kaiju already on this side of the Breach.”

Haruka felt the chill of foreboding ripple through Rin and across their Thread, an icy wave lapping at his mental defenses. “They…were looking for Rin.”

“Not just looking for him,” Makoto corrected with gravity, “Pinpointing his location. Possibly both your locations.” He gestured to the sheaf of papers the Marshal had been reviewing with him when they’d entered. “We went back through the readouts from all your previous sessions since we started Pons Training—and we noticed the same signal, coinciding with data from the K-Watch teams monitoring the breach at the time the activity was reported.”

“Wait—so now they’re _tracking us_?” Rin snapped. “They’ve been trying to pinpoint our location for _weeks_ now, and you just shoved us into a Conn Pod, blind to this fact, and let us practically waltz up to their doorstep?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Matsuoka,” the Marshal cautioned. “We pulled you out and disengaged the Drift at the first sign of trouble—”

“The first sign of trouble was your ‘anomaly’ weeks ago! _That_ was trouble!”

“No!” the M arshal roared, fist slamming onto the desk. “It was just that—an _anomaly_ , and we weren’t about to junk a program that had finally started to show results because of something that could have had a perfectly logical—and benign—explanation! I’m in charge of this Shatterdome and all its inhabitants; you are a _Ranger_. Your job isn’t to question my decisions, but to sit up straight, salute me as appropriate, and carry out whatever orders I see fit!” He shook a finger threateningly, and Haruka felt Rin tense beside him, the air thick with emotion. “As it is, this is _still_ not an issue—but we’re going to practice caution here and put the project on the back-burner while Tachibana and some of the K-Science people try to see what exactly can be done about this signal. Your job now is to sit back and _wait_.”

Rin was still a tightly drawn bowstring, ready to pop off at the least provocation, and Haruka found himself acting to soothe now, centering his mind and feeding calming vibes back into Rin. It went a ways toward settling his own nerves—which he wasn’t entirely happy about; he _wanted_ to vent his fury too. But one of them needed to keep his head, and Haruka was content to allow Rin the luxury of unleashing enough rage for the both of them.

“Sir,” Haruka began, cutting through the tension in much the way Makoto had earlier. “This has been going on since we started the Pons Training—that suggests that using the Ghost Drift to try and bypass the neural bridge somehow triggered the signal.”

A nod. “Near as Tachibana can figure it, exposure to the increased neural load coaxed a proportional response from Matsuoka—a neural signature, like a beacon going off, I suppose you could say. And someone noticed that beacon. Now every time you make that bridge—a bridge strong enough and stable enough to help you drive a Jaeger—that beacon grows brighter, clearer…and eventually they’re going to hone in on it.”

“And come to finish what they started…” Rin muttered miserably.

“Unless we can stop it—of course. And the fact that your latent Ghost Drift hasn’t triggered anything like this thus far does suggest that, so long as you don’t put too much strain on it, the signal can’t pick up your signature.”

“I’m brimming with confidence,” Rin groused, and Haruka cut him a look with a soft, chiding _Rin_ , though he could hardly blame him. 

“So there you have it,” the Marshal finished. “Consider yourselves briefed on the situation. Pons Training and any further sessions in a Conn Pod are suspended until we can figure out just what’s going on and determine how much—if any—danger it poses.” Rin snorted derisively, but made no comment. “Nanase—you’ll resume your usual schedule in the Kwoon. Matsuoka, I expect the Academy will find some green recruits who could benefit from your years of experience.” With a nod, he waved them off. “Dismissed.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was a good thing the Marshal had dismissed them; if Rin had been forced to stay in the same room as him for a _microsecond_ longer, he would’ve snapped. Between the stress of the near-miss, the realization that they’d had vital information kept from them _once again_ , and generally being fed up with not having much say in the life he’d fought tooth and nail to get, he was ready to blow up at the next person who pissed him off.

So it was probably for the best that only moments after they crossed the threshold into Haru’s quarters, just as Rin was rallying to start a profanity-laden rant that began with _That arrogant, pretentious human fuck_ —Haru had his hands on Rin’s hips, fingers hooked in his belt loops to whirl him around and back him up flush to the mattress, where he collapsed at the knees onto the creaking bedsprings. "The hell, Haru—" he started, but Haru cut him a cold glare and slipped to his knees between Rin's spread thighs, urging with soft threat, "Shut up and stop thinking for a while."

"This is—hardly the..." he tried to protest, fingers roughly clenching in Haru's short-cropped cut as he considered—for only a moment, admittedly—trying to tug Haru off of him, but those deft fingers were already unhasping the zip on the front of his trousers, laying sucking, deliberate kisses over the thick fabric of Rin's briefs being unveiled. He clenched his eyes shut and relaxed his fingers before eventually letting his arms fall back to brace against the mattress.

He didn't want this right now—he wanted to be _angry_. He wanted Haru to be angry _with_ him. He didn't want to lose himself in the sensation of Haru mouthing his hardening dick through his briefs, reaching into the little window to tug his shaft out without even bothering to pull off his pants, opening wide and breathing warm, moist air over the head without _touching_ , and _shit_ —

He whimpered softly, unsure if the humiliating sound was brought on by the sheer frustration of the day or the way Haru was laving a long stripe of saliva along his shaft, root to tip, with the flat blade of his tongue running rough over the sensitive skin. He tried to keep his focus on thoughts of being trapped in the Conn Pod, sensors blaring a warning of activity in the Breach, Haru's panicked expression that begged Rin not to leave him to have his mind invaded once again, to get him _out_ —but then Haru nipped at the thin layer of material still covering his balls, taking flesh and fabric at once and cutting him a dark, knowing look that held him fast in the present when all he wanted to do was wallow in his fury.

Haru was good at a lot of things—but particularly good at tamping down his emotions, bunching them up into a dense little ball and shoving them down into some dark corner where he never had to deal with them. But for Rin, they burned hot and bright and fierce and were _painful_ to face, like staring into the sun. But if Haru felt it with him—if Haru shouldered that burden with him—then maybe it wouldn't be so bad, like driving a Jaeger. But Haru wasn't teaching him to face the ugly truths right now; he was teaching him to ignore them, to seek out and enjoy distraction, and Rin wanted to laugh because wasn't this just _human nature_? Wasn’t this what he _longed_ for?

So he braced long fingers along Haru's jaw and the smooth line of his neck, eyes still clenched tight so that the brightness didn't burn so painfully, but breathing stuttering and labored as he encouraged Haru to do what he would: distract, divert, make the time pass and the bitterness fade until Rin could handle it on his own again and didn't try to pull Haru down with him.

Haru's lips were stretched and pink around Rin's shaft, the tip brushing against his dimpled cheeks on each downward stroke, and Rin dared a glance through hooded eyes, brows drawn tight and wary. Haru's gaze was focused on the task, unseeing and blank, and Rin wondered if he was getting any enjoyment out of the activity himself, reaching through limbo until mental fingers brushed the taut cord of their Thread. He _twang_ ed it once, testing its give, and Haru inhaled sharply at his tip, squeezing reflexively at the root and giving a light pinch to his balls as if to say _warn me before you do something like that_. Rin winced at the reaction and tried to swallow his grin, letting his breath grow shallower as he split his focus between Haru bobbing on his cock and the Thread connecting them, opening up the channels to give as good as he got.

It was just like driving a Jaeger: reach out, make the connection, pull input in, push output out, until you're a single body moving and feeling as one, giving and receiving in a constant loop. Through his lowered lashes, he could see Haru's brows knitting and the flush rising from his collarbone up the line of his neck to pink his ears, his cheeks. The attention to his cock faded, until Haru was mostly leaning into it and licking distractedly while his own legs spread beneath him and he rocked pathetically forward, rutting into nothingness. Rin took pity and began directing Haru back to his task, running fingers along himself to keep the shaft hard and straight and bucking shallowly into the warmth of Haru's mouth.

He distantly recalled that he was supposed to be angry about something—that he hadn't been in the mood to _talk_ let alone fuck, but right now his mind was caught in that loop of giving and taking and giving, a whirlwind race along a closed circuit with Haru in front of and behind him until it was impossible to tell who was in the lead and who was stuck following along. His breathing grew more labored, whines and grunts fighting their way from his throat as he worked himself and Haru and kept their link open as Haru took in all of the very same pleasure he was giving Rin, two bodies sharing a load that one alone could probably have handled...but gained more pleasure this way. So maybe not _entirely_ like piloting.

Haru's arms shifted to hook under Rin's legs, fingers digging into the thick cotton weave covering Rin's thighs and going white knuckled as his focus was jerked back and forth between the heavy, warm cock between his lips and those very same sensations bouncing back on himself five-fold, Rin _pushing_ everything at him, all but _forcing_ him to feel. And where before it had felt so alien and unwelcome, now Rin was determined to make it _right_ : they were going to do this, together, and if he couldn't have his pain and frustration and fear, then Haru would feel every _inch_ of what Rin was right now.

Haru whimpered sharply, pulling back just at the tip and sucking once, hard, before cocking his head to the side and mumbling over swollen lips as his hips canted forward in a jerky rhythm, "Can't...too much..."

"Don't...flame out on me now...Nanase..." Rin grunted, wincing as he worked his own shaft roughly, so close he could _taste_ it—and then Haru was shoving his hands away petulantly, winding their Thread in a tight coil around his shaft along with his fingers so that the sensations multiplied exponentially. He locked eyes with Rin, dark and demanding, and took full control now, repeating that mantra _shut up and stop thinking for a while_. Rin wanted to look away, wanted to clench his eyes shut again, but now _Haru_ was that bright pinpoint that he was being drawn to like some helpless moth caught in his thrall, and he was _inside_ Rin and _outside_ him and coiled around him like the Thread, and that was more than enough to send him vaulting over the edge, spurting with little more than a warning grunt and fists clenched at his sides, mussing the sheets. Haru's fingers slid around to palm his ass through the thick material of his trousers, and he pulled back to just the tip and let Rin's release dribble from his lips with little care as he stained the front of his own pants. Their orgasms vibrated over the Thread like ripples in a tiny pond, strong and shocking at first but quickly dissipating as they withdrew from one another and settle back into their own skin, coming down from the high.

Several long moments of silence punctuated only by slow breathing, evening out into a labored rhythm passed between them, Haru slumped against Rin's inner thighs and Rin having given up all pretense of control as he flopped back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. When he found his voice again, it was to complain morosely, "...You shouldn't have done that."

"It can't have been that bad; you usually last longer."

"I didn't _mean_ —" Rin started, shuffling up onto his elbows to stare down over his torso at Haru collapsed over his lap. "...You know what I meant."

"I do," Haru allowed. "I just disagree." He shifted his head to the side, pressing against Rin's thigh and inhaling deeply; he probably smelled like hydraulic fluid and sex and was in terrible want of a bath. "You needed to calm down."

Rin gestured between them, one brow raised dubiously. "And you thought _this_ was the best way to accomplish that? Because if I can expect more of that next time I get worked up..."

He could practically feel Haru's face burning a hole through his pants, as he replied in a voice muffled by the material, "...I...don't know. How to push emotions as well as you do. So this was all I could think of..."

Rin eyed him for a moment, before finally giving in to the leer that wanted to work its way onto his lips. "Then by all means, feel free to work your magic again." He then flopped back down against the mattress, eyes closed and exhaling slowly—before opening them again to stare up at the tangle of pipes threading across the ceiling. "...I wish you hadn't done it, then. I didn't want to be calmed down. I _want_ to be angry."

"...But you're not now?" Haru's voice was clearer, no longer muffled against Rin's pants, but a bit raspy.

Rin shrugged to himself. "Hard to be angry on a post-orgasm high."

"You feel better, then."

Rin slapped the mattress between them, hoisting himself upright again to glare down at Haru. "I didn't _want_ to feel better. I wanted to feel _angry_ —I wanted _you_ to be angry with me!" He felt his throat closing up in frustration as the recollection of all that they'd dealt with today finally came crashing back, only held at bay for a few minutes by Haru's distraction. "Aren't you _pissed_?"

Haru shrank back, frowning. "I am..."

"Well, just so you know: your angry face looks a lot like you're normal face. So forgive me for not noticing."

Haru shifted to his feet, wobbling uncertainly until he collapsed onto the bed, rolling onto his back alongside Rin and staring up at the pipework in the ceiling with him. "...When I spoke with Makoto, the other day... He told me that even if he couldn’t tell me everything, he was still on my side. And I guess...I'm trying to accept that. Accept that I have to trust...other people. Release control."

Rin frowned sourly, the idea bitter in his mouth. "I hate not being in control."

Haru shifted beside him, and when he glanced over, he found Haru's brows raised suggestively, a finger batting gently at the undone zip to his trousers. "Do you, now?"

Rin slapped his hand away lightly, but caught his grip around Haru's wrist, bringing it to his lips and inhaling; if this was what Haru had smelled on him, then maybe it wasn't so bad. “…Maybe not always. But right now, I do.” He let the hand drop back to his lap, rubbing a thumb across the knob of Haru’s wrist. “They’re…just humans. They don’t know how _badly_ this can go wrong—”

“They’re doing their best—”

“That’s not _good enough_.”

“Well it’s going to have to be. They’ve taken us off duty for now; we’ll just wait this out.” And before Rin could mount further protest, Haru deftly changed the subject. “Makoto said you went to speak with him.”

“I—” Rin frowned, head reeling with mental whiplash from the shift in conversation. “I—yeah. The other evening, after…the whole donuts thing.”

“Oh, that. That reminds me—we _still_ haven’t discussed that. We don’t know what impact too many sweets might have on her digest—”

Rin rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that shit; you know Amakata sneaks her treats all the time, and if anyone knows Kaiju biology better than me, it’s her. I just happen to not _like_ sweet things; it’s not like it’s gonna wreak havoc on my bowels or something. Or Gou’s.”

Haru relented, settling down again to lean into the cradle of his thighs, and Rin wondered if that hadn’t just been him blowing off some of the irritation and frustration he claimed to be harboring but never seemed to display. He threaded his fingers through the dark strands of hair now in terribly need of a shower. “…So he’s on your side, huh?”

“Our side.”

“He said that?”

Haru twisted to glance up at him. “He meant it.”

Rin shook his head, sighing dramatically to himself as he eased into a stance and reached down to draw Haru up with him. “Well, we need all the allies we can get these days.”

* * *

Being off duty meant they were back where they’d begun, frustratingly enough, which meant Haru was back in the Kwoon 27 hours a day, practically, while Rin was trying not to get caught underfoot, bouncing from lecture room to lecture room while working in a few pride-bruising sessions with Haru after classes ended for the day.

He’d tried to keep busy, conscious of the fact that he hadn’t made time to explain himself to Sousuke when the Ranger had caught him and Haru climbing out of their Conn Pod. Sure, he hadn’t outright _lied_ to the guy—but he hadn’t been entirely truthful, constantly dodging questions about whether or not Rin was still on active duty. The sight of them in their Drivesuits could not have bolstered Rin’s standing in Sousuke’s eyes, and he wasn’t looking forward to addressing the issue any time soon.

Which was of course why, after announcing his win with a triumphant _ha!_ at the end of a freestyle run against Haru in the natatorium a few nights later, he was greeted by slow, patronizing applause as he broke the surface. He scrubbed down his face, blinking away the sting of chlorine, and waited for the room to come into focus as he took in Sousuke looming over him, arms crossed and frown resolute. 

Before he could open his mouth to speak, Haru grabbed the wall to haul himself up onto the poolside, nodding politely. “Yamazaki.”

“Nanase,” Sousuke returned flatly, and the both of them followed Haru with their eyes as he padded off for the showers. Rin didn’t need to tap their Thread to interpret Haru’s tactful retreat as instructions to _take care of this_ before doing the same himself.

He slicked his hair back, cursing softly to himself—then jerked back when something entered his peripheral vision: a hand. He followed it up to where Sousuke stood, extending it down to him, then tentatively grabbed hold, allowing himself to be hauled up onto the poolside. “…Thanks.”

Another cordial nod. “I figured I’d find you here.”

“You’ve discovered my deep dark secret: I like swimming.”

“You’re not very good at hiding it.” The words were amicable enough, but their respective tones were tense and hesitant, both understanding full well that these were only niceties bandied about until they could sink into the meat of the discussion.

He shuffled over to his bag, squatting down to rifle through it for a hand towel that he used to mop his hair free of drips. “I told you the other day…” he began, sidling back over to take a seat on one of the starting blocks, “…that there were things I was and wasn’t allowed to discuss.”

“So I guess ‘I pilot Jaegers with Nanase’ was one of the latter, then?”

Rin winced. “…You never asked.”

“And if I had, would you have answered? Would you have _told me_?”

And Rin didn’t honestly know; their runs weren’t exactly secret, but that was more because they were ‘hiding in plain sight’ than because there was nothing to hide. If they didn’t make a big deal out of their Omega Free runs, then it wasn’t supposed to be _seen_ as a big deal by other personnel. “…You found out anyway.”

“I didn’t want to _find out_ —I wanted you to _tell me_.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So do you? Pilot with him.”

“You saw us step out of the Conn pod,” Rin evaded.

“How do you manage it, then? I’ve seen Nanase’s file—those sync ratios would fry a man’s brain in five seconds if he wasn’t pulled out.”

Rin shifted back to his feet, heading for the showers. “I can’t discuss that—”

“ _Dammit_ , Rin!” Sousuke barked, voice echoing off of the tall, concrete and rebar walls, and he immediately covered his mouth, self-conscious. “…I thought you were going to let me in.”

_If you won’t let me have my old friend back, at least let me try and make a new one?_

He’d asked that, and Rin had obliged, agreed. In his mind, if not aloud, and somehow that weighed more heavily than any spoken promises. And equally burdensome was Tachibana’s advice to expand his horizons, allow himself to be close with those beyond his own little hive mind he’d constructed between himself, Haru, and Gou. It was easy to be honest with those you were physically, mentally, and emotionally closest to, the ones who could read you like a book with little more than a thought—but it was far more difficult to take a chance on a stranger.

He wasn’t the enemy—just someone looking for a friend. Someone who might be so desperate for that friend that he’d be willing to walk on eggshells. Step where Rin told him to step. 

He draped the towel over one shoulder, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at his toes. “…I know what you want. And I also know that _you_ know I can’t give it to you. And you don’t strike me as the kind of person who throws a fit when he doesn’t get something he knows full well he can’t have—which means you’ll be satisfied with something else, provided it fills the same need.”

Sousuke straightened up a hair, head cocking just to the side as he took Rin’s measure. “…And what need is that?”

“You want my friendship, right? You want to get to know me?” A nod. “…Then there are rules.”

Sousuke seemed the type to follow rules to a letter, every bit the PPDC poster child. “…This better be worth it.”

Under less tense circumstances, Rin might have crowed _hell yeah I’m worth it_ , but instead he just presented his argument: “You don’t want to be lied to—and I sympathize. I…have not had good experiences with being lied to myself, recently, and if possible, I wouldn’t want to put you through similar. So I won’t lie.”

“…But you won’t tell me the whole truth, either.”

A nod. “I’ll let you know when you’re not getting the full story, as much as I can without putting us in danger. But you’ll have to accept that.” He grabbed both ends of the towel where it hung around his neck. “This is a war—we’re soldiers. Sometimes there’ll be things I can’t discuss with you, and I won’t be able to tell you _why_ I can’t, because they’re not always my secrets to tell. Sometimes they’ll be Haru’s…sometimes they’ll even be Gou’s.” At this, Sousuke’s brows drew together, and he looked like he wanted to protest, but Rin cut him off. “So either you’re okay with that, and you take me as I am, or you’re not…and then we probably shouldn’t speak again.”

Sousuke flinched, eyeing Rin warily, and Rin wondered if this was where he dug in his heels, reminded Rin that he wasn’t going to be bullshitted, that he wanted Rin whole and open and honest—just like Haru got him. But instead, Sousuke’s shoulders slumped, and he rubbed at the right one with a massaging stroke, sighing dramatically, “For fuck’s sake, Matsuoka: everything’s gotta be a battle with you, doesn’t it? Fine—I’ll accept your stupid ultimatum. As long as I don’t have to like it.”

Rin relaxed a hair when the rejection he’d been expecting didn’t come, and something like hope fluttered in his chest at the realization of just what lengths this person would go to in order to be close with him, to be his _friend_. Haru was kind of obligated, in a way; he couldn’t escape Rin even if he wanted to. But Sousuke…Sousuke was going to step on his pride and kick it to the curb just for the opportunity to have a drink with Rin. 

Maybe Tachibana hadn’t been as full of shit as Rin liked to think.

Sousuke jerked a thumb towards the exit. “If you’re done with your runs, wanna hit the training simulator? I’ve got something of a one-sided standing bet with Nanase concerning our Drift Compatibility.”

* * *

With Haru confined to the Kwoon for most of the day, Rin finally had no choice but to take Sousuke up on his offers of companionship, and it was to his great surprise that he discovered that he kind of _enjoyed_ hanging out with the guy.

They stayed away from land mines, rarely touching on the past and instead living in the present and future, taking turns in Pons units to see who could rack up the most kills, racing through the Jaeger Bushido together to try and complete all of the forms before the other, even enjoying laps in the natatorium together, which left Rin feeling a bit guilty about, as that had always been his and _Haru’s_ territory. Then again, Sousuke’s bum shoulder meant that Rin typically won handily, so victories were never as sweet as they were with Haru, and runs in the pool were usually just an excuse to burn off some energy. 

While Rin had made it clear his own past was not something Sousuke was meant to be prying into, if he wanted them to remain friends, Sousuke himself was more upfront about his own history, and when he caught Rin warily eyeing his shoulder one evening after a particularly brutal thrashing in the pool, he’d explained wryly, “…They tell you to leave emotions out of the Drift. That it only endangers the balance, distracts you as a pilot.” He’d reached for some balm to rub into the red, swollen joint, and grimaced. “They aren’t lying.”

Rin frowned at the story, wishing he could ask for details without sounding like a hypocrite. “…Did it hurt?”

Sousuke shrugged with his good shoulder. “At the time, like a bitch. But I was really pissed off, high on adrenaline, so I guess I was more focused on…getting back at them.”

“‘Them’?”

A nod. “Them. The Kaiju. The Precursors. They…” He licked his lips, wincing as he rubbed the balm over his skin. “…They took my best fucking friend away from me. Like it was nothing. I wanted to make them pay.”

Rin inhaled sharply, but didn’t let his expression betray his emotions. “…So, you joined the PPDC for…”

“For revenge.” He made a fist, then unclenched it. “Which was probably my first mistake. But I didn’t really care; I just wanted to feel like I was doing _something_. To make them pay.” His lips quirked into a bitter grin. “That’s the first thing they ask you, when you sign up—right? Why you’re doing it?”

Rin nodded; he couldn’t honestly remember what he’d said when he’d enlisted. Probably something scripted, along the lines of doing his part, pulling his weight, feeling like he had something to ‘contribute to the cause’. “I think they just want to filter out the…”

“The ones with a death wish?” The grin grew, and Sousuke shook his head. “Well—if it makes you feel better, I didn’t. Have a death wish, that is. I just…didn’t want them to get away with it. I know it’s not exactly a big deal: one little kid, one of a million, billion little kids who might die before this is all over. But it meant something to me. And I figured what did it matter to them what my personal reasons were, so long as I brought down Kaiju when pointed at them?” 

That seemed like exactly the kind of logic someone like Sousuke might use—someone who saw a goal and went for it, no matter the damage it wrought on him along the way. As long as he got what he wanted in the end—a respectable drop-kill ratio—then Sousuke must have been satisfied, or he’d have been more of a mess after losing full use of his shoulder.

Rin attempted to inject a bit of humor into the moment, jibing, “Probably for the best you got sidelined; given that pathetic drop-kill ratio you pulled the other day in the Pons room—”

“ _Hey_ ,” Sousuke objected, point a finger, “I _nearly_ matched you—and that’s _with_ the bum shoulder!” He raised his brows, taunting, “Fatherhood got you going soft? Trading in the Conn pod for a minivan?”

Rin made a rude gesture. “I could still take you even if you sprouted a third arm and went all Crimson Typhoon on me.”

“Brave words, Matsuoka: what’s your Drift Compatibility with Nanase, anyway?”

Rin shrugged, snorting softly. “You know, I have no idea—we’ve never actually…” He trailed off, words choking in his throat as he realized, shock jolting through his system, what he’d just admitted.

That he had no clue what his and Haru’s Drift Compatibility was. That they’d never been _tested_. 

The odds of any two strangers just _happening_ to be Drift Compatible were…not astronomical, but were certainly not happening by mere _chance_. It was why they didn’t have Drift teams growing on trees, why there were always more Jaegers available than pilots to fill them. 

Sousuke, though, just _stared_ in stony silence, letting the realization wash over Rin without a flicker of response. As if he’d been _expecting_ it. Waiting for Rin to trip up. Waiting for him to forget that he wasn’t racing Haru or shooting the breeze with Tachibana. 

He drummed his fingers on his thighs as he sat there, hunched over on the bench in the locker room, and inhaled sharply before releasing it, long and even. “So how is it, then…that two people with unknown Drift Compatibility…just _happened_ to be drafted to do some runs in a very unstable, unpredictable prototype?” He added with a sneer, “Or is that something else I’m not allowed to ask?”

Rin could feel his pulse picking up and worried, frantic, that Haru would feel it—would feel their Thread tense with terror and come rushing over to muck things up further than Rin had already done. He’d screwed up, he’d _screwed_ up, and this was what happened when he tried to step outside of his comfort zone, when he wasn’t _in control_. 

Sousuke shifted to his feet, arms spread as he waited for an explanation. “What, did you just happen to trip and _fall_ into a Conn pod together?”

“I—it’s me, not him; I’m—I had a condition. I was—Drift Compatible. With anyone. I could adapt—”

“Except me?” Hurt flashed across his features, replacing the dark anger; and he couldn’t exactly be blamed. They’d logged enough time in the Pons units and training simulators to earn a respectable—but not perfect, not near enough to let them pilot together—score. They were too much _alike_ , like crude copies of one another. They scored high on the same sections and low on the same sections, instead of balancing one another out as officers liked to see with Drift team candidates. 

But how was Rin supposed to explain that? How to explain what he’d had and lost, what he’d missed but gained? 

Sousuke didn’t wait for an explanation, charging on: “Why Nanase, then? You say you’re Compatible with anyone, so why of _all_ the candidates, did they choose a Fightmaster who’d never logged more than five minutes in a training simulator? Who’d spent _years_ of his life hiding in a bunker instead of trying to do some _good_ in the field? He’s no _Ranger_.”

“I—it was just…a prototype, it wasn’t supposed to…” But he drifted off, wary of saying more than he ought to. He’d delivered his ultimatum now, and just because emotions were running high and Rin had spoken out of turn didn’t mean those same conditions didn’t still apply, so he buttoned up and shook his head. “…I won’t discuss this. I won’t.”

Sousuke gaped, expression blank with shock as he let his mind catch up to the sound conclusion Rin had brought their discussion to—and then he _laughed_ , a short, raspy chuckle as he nodded. “Right. Right, yeah. Boundaries. Things I’m not allowed to ask.” He nodded with more energy, pursing his lips. “You got it. I won’t ask you anything else on the matter.”

Rin felt his heart jump into his throat, stomach weightless as if held aloft by butterflies rattling about inside. “Sousuke…”

His brows lifted as he shrugged, unbothered: “I’ll just go ask Nanase. If you won’t tell me, maybe he will.”

“Wai— _what_?” No—no no no, that hadn’t been how this was supposed to go at _all_. “‘I can’t tell you’ doesn’t mean just _I_ can’t tell you—it means _you can’t know_!” But Sousuke was already heading for the door, toeing on his boots and tugging a t-shirt over his head one-handed as he swiped his badge to exit the locker room.

“Where is he? Quarters probably, yeah? Kwoon sessions end early on Sundays; I can usually catch you two in here with Gou-chan around 7, so I’m guessing it’s dinnertime at his place right about now.”

Rin scrambled after him, protests on his lips, “You _can’t_ —I’m not keeping things from you just to piss you off! This is serious shit, Sousuke!”

“Something is _not right_ here, and I’m done being jerked around, Rin.” He ducked into a side shaft, taking the stairs two at a time as if, even now, he was racing Rin to their destination. “You’ve always sucked at lying.”

“That’s why I told you I _wouldn’t lie_ —and I _haven’t_!”

“Then how is it you claim to be Drift Compatible with everyone and yet somehow I’m an anomaly?” _Shit_ he was on their floor, now, hanging a turn down their corridor.

“ _Was_! I _was_ Compatible—but I’m not anymore. I lost it—”

“Convenient, that.” He drew to a halt before Haru’s door, breathing heavily from their mad dash, and rapped soundly on the iron door instead of buzzing, knuckles drumming out a merry little rhythm that reflected the mad, gleeful glint in his eyes. Rin felt his stomach twist itself into knots.

He thought about sending a panicked message through Gou—a relay, alerting Haru not to answer, to avoid Sousuke at all costs from now on—but before he could even formulate an explanation, the door swung open, and Haru stood clad in his swim trunks and an apron, a cutesy ladle that was most _definitely_ not standard issue gripped in one hand. His frown deepened when he noticed Rin’s expression of defeat. “…What’s going on here?”

Sousuke didn’t wait to be invited inside, shouldering past Haru and flashing a little wave at Gou where she sat at the table, coloring a page of what looked to be highly stylized outlines of Kaiju for kids. “Thought I’d join you for dinner—yo, Gou-chan.”

Her face crinkled in mirth and she hid behind her hands, bright white teeth grinning. “Sou-chan.”

Haru took a few steps back, glancing in wary confusion at Rin—who could do nothing at this point to dissuade Sousuke. Perhaps Haru’s charm would, in itself, put Sousuke off enough that he took his leave. He surely wouldn’t make a scene in front of Gou, after all. “…I’m afraid I didn’t make enough.” It was bull; Haru liked to keep the leftovers for lunches throughout the week, so he could surely spare some for Sousuke. But in this instance, his stubborn barbs were welcome.

Gou’s grin fell, and she began to protest, “But Daddy, we—” until she quickly buttoned up, the glare Haru directed her way explaining volumes. Rin could feel the knowledge there too, entering the collective, available if he wanted it: _he can’t be here right now, there’s trouble, stay quiet_. She was too young, by far, to understand the intricacies of secrets and lies of the magnitude they were dealing in, but she knew well enough to listen to a parent when he cut her a look like that, delivered in that tone. 

Sousuke glanced back and forth between Gou and Haru, clearly sensing that they were exchanging knowledge but not entirely sure _how_ , and this pushed him over the edge, beyond the bounds of his careful restraint. “Just— _enough_. Both of you. Or—all three of you, I don’t know.” He waved a hand around the room, gesturing to them all. “I’m tired of being given the run-around; I’m tired of being told there are secrets and things I can’t ask about and having _friendship_ and _compassion_ dangled over my head like I’m supposed to sit up and beg for it just so you can collar me and keep me at arm’s length.”

“That’s not—” Rin began to protest, hurt that his genuine attempts at forging a friendship from scratch had come off as little more than a carrot on a stick, but Sousuke’s dark look shut him up.

“…He won’t tell me what it feels like everyone but me already knows—so I’m hoping maybe you’ll shed some light on the situation, Nanase.” He flicked a glance to the table, where Gou sat clutching her crayons. “Or maybe Gou-chan can share? I’ve always liked that about kids—honest to a fault, no matter how their parents might bend over _backwards_ to keep their secr—”

“ _Sousuke_!” Rin hissed, feeling himself flush deep red, because it was one thing to be pissed at _Rin_ , but another entirely to play on Gou’s innocence and affection for Sousuke just to satisfy his curiosity.

But Haru just held a hand up, expression still blank but their Thread vibrating with all of that rage and irritation he usually kept carefully banked—and for once, Rin _worried_. Worried that Haru might do something drastic, something he would regret, something—

“Fine,” Haru allowed evenly, crossing his arms over his chest even as the ladle dripped broth onto the smooth concrete floor. “Tell him.”


	8. Chapter 8

“ _Haru_ …” Rin begged, stricken, and took a physical step back, nearly bowled over by the irritation and rage radiating off of Haru in waves. It was one thing to be frustrated, to be _tired_ of running around in circles and desperate to shield loved ones from harm, but this…this was practically a death sentence if the Marshal found out, and ruin for any relationship Rin and Sousuke might ever have even if the Marshal _didn’t_ find out.

But Haru’s hard, cold gaze was fixed on Sousuke now, and even without trawling the collective, without running a finger along their Thread, he knew Haru was beyond caring about any repercussions or how Sousuke might take such news. He only saw someone barging into his apartment, daring to involve their daughter in something she was innocent of, and was righteously lashing out.

Rin might have supported him, even goaded him on—if he hadn’t been Haru’s weapon of choice. As it was, he was left with little choice but to give in to the storm Haru was brewing and let himself get swept away. He shifted his gaze to follow Haru's, letting his eyes settle on Sousuke and trying to see him as Haru saw him—brash and vicious and stubborn and underhanded, hoping that might make this easier.

But he couldn't; all he saw in Sousuke's own troubled gaze boring back into him was desperation and frustration, the bone-deep _surety_ that something important was being kept from him—that _Rin_ was keeping something from him. He could almost _feel_ the betrayal oozing off of Sousuke and wondered, for a wild moment, if he was actually picking up some of Haru's empathy—before concluding that no, this was just plain old guilt.

His mouth opened and closed a few times in succession, brows cinching, as he struggled to form the words, his lips failing—until, like a bandaid, he just _ripped_ it off in a rushed whisper: "I'm not Matsuoka Rin."

Sousuke's eyes widened a tic, his nostrils flaring, but beyond that he didn't move a muscle. Far from it, his body grew eerily still, cocked like a bolt ready to shoot, and Rin had the discomfiting thought that he didn’t seem all that _surprised_ , like he’d almost been expecting something like this to explain Rin’s behavior, as he returned with such tension in his voice it practically _vibrated_ , "...Then who are you?"

Rin swallowed thickly, feeling the bitter tang of bile coating his throat as he forced himself to admit, "His clone."

The tension across Sousuke's shoulders finally eased, if only to be replaced by confusion set firmly over his brow as he struggled to grasp what Rin was confessing—and weighing its veracity. He sounded almost comically lost when he pressed, "...Where's Rin, then?" and Rin finally glanced away, no longer able to force himself to witness the tragedy unfolding. He could imagine well enough what expressions would flash over those features as the sick truth sank in; he didn't need to actually _see_ it. Then there came the clatter of chair legs scraping over cool concrete as Sousuke sank down, legs giving way, with a broken, "Oh... _oh_..." and Rin winced, biting his cheek so hard it drew blood. He wished it were Kaiju blue, that it might eat him from the inside out; at least _physical_ pain he understood.

A few months back, when Amakata-sensei had been cleaning out her office, he'd found a sampling of trashy romance novels she'd been about to send to the Shatterdome library. Amused, she'd loaned them to him, suggesting he use them as 'educational material' to hone his understanding of some of the more _lurid_ human emotions. Lust and jealousy and cowardice and abandon, he'd read about them all between those yellowing, musty pages and thought _I can handle this_. He could handle humanity—it was base and primitive and primal, and he'd been a _million strong_ , had his mind stretched in an infinite number of directions. He would conquer these simple emotions and feelings with the ease and confidence that came with being a member of a superior race; he would _prevail_ , and finally be free to be himself.

But Haru was teaching him, excruciatingly slowly and in full-detail, all of the ways humanity could be so much _worse_ than the blessed ignorance of the Collective, just giving up the burden of individuality and letting someone else take the lead, make the decisions. Break the hearts.

He was starting to think that, maybe now, he understood the human concept of karma. Of giving pain, and getting it back many-fold—of _deserving_ it. And after he'd pressed Haru for all his ugliness, practically begged him to get down in the muck, he shouldn't have been surprised that he wound up filthy himself. They were connected, after all—as intimately as it was possible to be.

Sousuke was breathing audibly now, blinking quickly with deep inhalations. He looked like he might be about to throw up, but it was only words that came out of his mouth when he finally found his voice again, tone thick with confusion. "But—no, but, you...look _exactly_ like him. _Sound_ like him." He ran fingers through his hair, mussing the close crop as he added manically, "You _swim_!" He whirled around, glancing at Gou with a stricken expression. "You...you named her _Gou_..." Some sudden realization drew a strangled gasp from him, though, and he extended a trembling finger to point accusingly at Gou. "Her...her mother. Her mother. Who's her..."

Gou huddled, silent, in her seat, glancing back and forth between Haru and Rin, seeming to wonder if Sousuke was questioning her directly, and Rin licked his lips, answering before she grew any more uncomfortable with the mock interrogation, "...She doesn't have one." Sousuke turned back to him, expression edging on betrayal, as if he suspected that even now Rin was holding back on him. Rin firmed his mouth into a thin line; these weren't his secrets to give, now, and guilt ate away at his gut. "...But if you want to know who her other biological parent is..." He trailed off, shifting a glance over to Haru, who'd fixed his own eyeline unflinchingly on an empty patch of wall—one of the few spaces that hadn't yet been decorated with Gou's drawings.

Sousuke followed his gaze, and Rin could see the instant it dawned on him that when Gou called Haru _Daddy_ , she meant it, in every sense of the word. "I...that..." He started to shake his head, as if physically rattling it might make everything being dumped on him fall into some semblance of order. "That's—bullshit, that's not...not humanly possible." His lips twisted into a sour frown, and his eyes flashed with accusal.

Rin was grateful, on some level, that Sousuke was slipping back into stubborn refusal to accept things as they were; that, he could deal with. Not... _emotion_. Not sensation and _feeling_ that turned the stomach and clawed at the throat and burned the eyes. He needed to be eased into emotion, he was realizing—like too-chilly water he could barely dip a toe into. He begged for Haru's anger and rage, like a child reaching for the flame of a candle—and now that he'd burned himself, he was turning gunshy.

He shook his head. "No," he agreed simply. "It's _not_ humanly possible." He sidled over to the table, drawing up behind Gou to smooth down a few flyaways—and the way she unconsciously leaned into him settled his nerves a hair. Emotions were complicated, but Gou was blessedly _not_. "But that's because I'm not just a clone. I'm a hybrid."

Sousuke sat up a bit straighter, and Rin could practically _hear_ the klaxons starting to clang alarmingly in the man's mind, his very voice quivering on edge. "...A hybrid...with _what_?"

Rin just flicked him a dark, knowing glance, continuing to pet Gou and keeping his features carefully schooled; he wasn't going to just lay it out for him to pick over. He'd have to put two and two together himself. If he insisted on pushing and prodding and _probing_ , then he'd best be prepared for all of the nasty, dirty secrets he forced into the light.

The chair scraped sharply across the floor again, this time from the force of Sousuke forcing himself to stand and take a few measured steps back, placing a buffer of space between himself and Rin and pacing and cursing loudly, "Holy—shit, shit, _you're_..." Rin let him make a few tracks around the tiny kitchenette before sidling forward and slipping into Sousuke's vacated seat, taking one of Gou's tiny hands in his own and tracing the veins he could make out just below the surface of her skin. It didn't deliver the same immediate wave of calm that tactile contact with Haru did, but it was comforting all the same, especially when she made a little fist and squeezed his fingers in solidarity.

"Did you know? About—" He was addressing Haru now, but cut himself off before he finished the thought, either because he'd answered his own obvious question, or because he'd realized that the sidelong glance Haru was throwing him _was_ his answer. His gaze kept flicking around the room, manic energy rising, and Rin wondered if he was even mentally stable enough to _handle_ this discussion. The last thing they needed was to have to explain why their most recent arrival was having a nervous breakdown in Haru's kitchen. Sousuke turned abruptly on his heel, though, pointing a finger accusingly and expression stonily sober. "You expect me to… Are you _suggesting_ that the PPDC—that _humans_ are breeding..." He grimaced, like they word itself was bitter on his tongue, "...human-kaiju hybrids?"

And maybe that simple truth was more than enough to overpower any grief Sousuke might have otherwise felt at realizing his best friend was not 'back from the dead', but had never truly been alive. After all, to someone who'd staked his life on destroying the monsters who stole his 'best-fucking-friend', death was a far more decent end than being bound to a body that shared those monsters' very genetic code.

“Humans?” Rin forced a chuckle, but it came out more a derisive snort. “What could humans possibly use me for? No.” He shook his head. "I'm not suggesting that at all. Because I wasn't created to _help you_.” He flashed his eyes threateningly. "I was created to _destroy_ you."

Sousuke narrowed his gaze at the veiled threat, but at least he wasn't flinching anymore, and even if he didn't entirely believe Rin's explanation, he wasn't laughing in their faces. Rin kind of wished he would, though; then they could move on. But if Sousuke thought Rin was joking now, he'd only press harder for the 'real' truth, so maybe it was for the best they got this over with. "So...you're not Rin, Rin's..." He trailed off, then licked his lips and cleared his throat. "You're not Rin, you're...some kind of mish-mash of human and kaiju who happens to _look_ like Rin. You sound like Rin, you _act_ like Rin, you do everything Rin did..." He thinned his lips, repeating as if to impress the fact upon himself, “But you're not Rin. You're not even human."

"I'm mostly human, if it helps," Rin reminded flippantly.

The grimace Sousuke returned said that it didn't help, not a bit. "You're a kaiju. You're a _kaiju_.”

"You don't need to repeat it; I already know."

A muscle twitched in Sousuke's face, like he wanted to respond with some snappy, sarcastic comment—the way he might have if Rin had really been _his_ Rin—but was holding himself back. "...You lied to me."

Rin sighed, rubbing at his eyes; he just wanted this to be over with. "You thought you knew me; I couldn't explain why you were wrong. I was under strict orders _not_ to, in fact."

"And now you're not?"

"No, I still am. And the Marshal knows about me too, in case you were wondering, and he likes having me around, because double agents are useful in wars, as it just so happens. You knowing about me puts my security in jeopardy, though, so I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to remove any threat you might pose." He frowned to impress the gravity of his words. "So I'd keep quiet about this, if I were you."

"Your concern is touching," Sousuke sneered, and Rin didn't want to deal with this; he could spend the rest of the night, explaining in painstaking detail just how much of him now was human and how much was still kaiju, he could outline his entire life's story, from those first few moments of conscious awareness, of having a brain he didn't understand flooded with memory and knowledge through the Collective and the jarring _agony_ of sudden comprehension of himself as a _self_ rather than one of the host of Others, those bits of new humanity warring with the desire to melt into the mass. Sousuke looked at him now and saw a monster wearing Matsuoka Rin's face—and Rin couldn't honestly blame him. He'd expected it, after all; dealt with the same feelings himself.

But that didn't mean he had to sit here and take it. He stood in place, and Sousuke froze, going tense like a rabbit under a hawk's watch, as if he expected Rin to morph into some Eldritch abomination now and tear him limb from limb like the kaiju he claimed to be. He might have laughed, had the mood been lighter, but instead, he just exhaled sharply. "Well you got your answers; will you leave us alone now?"

And all at once, Sousuke seemed to recall the sequence of actions that had led them here in the first place, as he blinked stupidly and frowned. "No, I...No." Rin's brows drew together in exhausted irritation, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Haru straightening up, could feel tension vibrating over the Thread, preparing for a fight. "You're not Rin... You're some kind of kaiju-human clone...spying on us?"

"Spying. Undermining. Betraying. I wore many hats."

"Past tense." A nod. "So then—what, you're a traitor or something? You work for the PPDC now?" He narrowed his gaze, sizing Rin up. "...You were in a Conn Pod. You and Nanase. You were piloting that prototype Jaeger out in the Bay."

Rin thinned his lips, but he'd agreed to be upfront, and nothing more he could share was going to get Sousuke in any deeper shit than he was already drowning in. "I was—we were."

"You're a team? Even though you're not..."

"I'm human enough to Drift—with anyone, for a time, albeit not without causing severe neural trauma to my partners after a few drops. Then along came Haru, with a sync rate just sufficiently fucked-up that I couldn't damage him any more than he was already broken." Haru's lips twitched into a frown, and Rin silently apologized for the underhanded jab. "Then...he got his hooks in me, dragged me out of the Collective kicking and screaming. Gave me a home. Knocked me up."

Sousuke's eyes goggled at the crude terminology, and Rin didn't suppress the snort of mild amusement the expression drew. "Wait—you...were _serious_ …”

Rin shrugged. "It's complicated, even the little I understand. Lots to do with kaiju biology and shit I leave up to the K-Science people." At this, Sousuke flicked a glance over to Haru, clearly trying to piece together in his mind just how they'd created a child—and also clearly never going to ask. Rin let a fond smile play at the corners of his lips as he reached over to tweak Gou's nose. She batted his hand away, covering her nose with one hand and glowering up at him with mock menace. "She's special, though. Like her old man."

"How so?" Sousuke took a tentative step forward, curiosity getting the better of him, as he glanced back and forth between Rin and Gou.

He jerked his chin in Gou's direction. "How old do you think she is?"

Sousuke shrugged. "Fourish? Five, maybe? Could be three, though; what the hell do I know about kids."

"Nothing, when it comes to quarter-breeds; she just turned a year old." When Sousuke blanched with incredulity, he explained, "We mature faster than humans; she'll be full-grown in another few years." He tugged on her ponytail as she beamed at them all, thrilled to be the center of attention. "Can't say I'm looking forward to it." Haru snorted softly at this, and Rin shared a warm, knowing look with him. Sousuke looked like he wanted to call bullshit again—but the developmental procession of kaiju and their cellular biology was largely known fact among K-Scientists and even many of their less-specialized peers. Rin might be accused of lying, but not of just pulling stories out of his ass. "And then there's the Collective."

A frown. "You...you mentioned that, before." He narrowed his gaze. "That some kaiju thing?"

Rin nodded. "The kaiju aren't just an army of monsters carrying out orders individually—they're all interconnected, bonded neurally to all of their counterparts like one huge Drift, constantly sharing information and knowledge. Learning. Evolving." He added pointedly, "And winning." Sousuke grimaced, but at least he made no more snide quips this time. “… _We_ use it for less nefarious purposes."

"'We'," Sousuke repeated dumbly, before blinking in shock. "Wait—you, and her?"

"And Haru," Rin clarified, nodding into the kitchenette where Haru was stirring his soup and trying not to look like he was eavesdropping. "I can't...go into the details of how—"

"Or you _won't_ ,” Sousuke accused, but with markedly less vicious bite than before, and Rin pursed his lips.

"...Fine, I _won't_.” He paused a beat, then nodded at Gou. "Go on, ask her a question. Something only a Ranger would know—something a little girl couldn't possibly."

Sousuke regarded him warily, as if still expecting that horrifying transformation any moment, but then turned to Gou, squatting down to put himself closer to her level. "All right then—what's the passing ratio for time in the Combat Simulator to advance to Pons training and Drivesuit testing?"

Gou merely stared at him blankly, glancing nervously up at Rin and then to Haru, before shrugging stiffly. "Dunno."

Sousuke snorted, raising a brow at Rin to say _So?_ , and Rin stepped around behind her again, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze and closing his eyes as he opened himself up, wide and full and pouring himself out into the Collective, letting his knowledge merge and meld and silently urging Gou to take it in, absorb it like a sponge and make it her own.

She straightened with a start, squaring her shoulders and reciting from rote memory, "Minimum 30 drops or 700 minutes in the Simulator, whichever comes last; kill-drop ratio of 85%-plus. And—sign-off from a superior ossifer."

"Officer."

"Ossifer," she repeated, trying to hide a mischievous grin, and Rin tugged on her ponytail again.

"Close enough." He schooled his features into something more sober than 'doting father' and quirked a brow, boasting, "By the way, at the end of my Simulator module, I'd gone through 77 sessions and had a 101% kill-drop ratio." He shrugged. "One was a double-event."

"Wait—you went to the Academy?"

"Well they didn't make me a Ranger based just on my good looks. Wouldn't be a very convincing spy without the credentials and experience to prove I deserve my position, would I?"

Sousuke closed his eyes and wiped a hand over his face, massaging his temples with a grimace. “…Fucking kaiju…in our own _Academies_ …”

“Well, mostly just me. I kind of ruined it for the rest of the hybrids.” Sousuke looked like he wanted to press for details, but Rin was through explaining himself, and he cut him off with, “Are we done now?”

An angry flush painted Sousuke’s cheeks and throat, and he snapped, “No—we’re not. We’ll be done when I’m satisfied with your story.” Rin wondered if that was even possible. “The Pons room—it was closed, off-limits when I got here. You gave me some cock-and-bull story then, and I’ll have the truth now.”

Rin glared sullenly, throat dry. “…I answered your questions.”

“And now I’ve got more—you haven’t even explained what I came here for in the _first_ place.” When Rin balked, he pressed, “Drift Compatibility. How is it you two just _happened_ to have it, when you’ve never even been assessed? When he—” He thrust a finger in Haru’s direction, “—by all rights shouldn’t be able to Drift with _anyone_.”

“Like I _said_ ,” Rin reminded through grit teeth, “We didn’t _need_ testing; the Marshal was desperate for a pair of pilots, and I’d proven capable of Drifting with anyone. Haru had the basics down, and it was…just a prototype. We weren’t meant to be charging into the Breach.”

“From what I’ve seen, you haven’t been doing a lot of charging _anywhere_ lately.” He glanced over at Haru, suspicious, then back to Rin. “Has the program been suspended?”

“You said yourself we haven’t been doing a lot of ‘charging’ anywhere,” Rin returned morosely.

“Why?”

“What does it mat—” he started, but the look Sousuke gave him stilled the protests in his throat, and he groaned mentally. He wasn’t going to _stop_ until he’d wrung them dry, it seemed. “…I told you…that Haru pulled me out of the Collective.”

“…Yeah. What does that even mean?”

“It’s—complicated. I don’t even understand it myself, honestly; I don’t think Haru does either. But it meant…I got cut off from the hive mind. I couldn’t contribute—and I couldn’t receive.”

“And you…needed that?”

A snort. “If I wanted to live, hell yeah.” He tapped his temple. “I was meant to be Drift Compatible with humans, but not to actually _Drift_ with them, because letting thoughts, feelings, memories, _emotion_ infect my mind was dangerous—anything that wasn’t put there by the Precursors themselves was a threat. Such… _debris_ was kind of like an infection, I guess. Unwanted data stored in my mind, warping my views, coloring my desires and giving me individuality. They’d wanted me to _play_ human, not _be_ one—and they might have pulled it off, if I hadn’t come up against a mind capable of bearing the weight of the hive mind. Like I said—” He threw Haru a look, lips quirking up on one side, “just sufficiently fucked-up that I couldn't damage him any more than he was already broken.” 

“Infected,” Sousuke repeated, turning the word over in his mouth. “You were…infected. With—what, humanity?”

“Mmhmm…” Rin nodded. “And infected animals need to be put down. Lest they poison the waters the rest of the herd drinks from. You follow me?”

Sousuke sobered. “They tried to kill you.”

“Not just tried—damn near succeeded. But it cost them—precisely one kaiju army.”

“…The quell. We went almost a full year without a single attack, no movement in the Breach.”

“I guess they decided it was easiest to destroy any chance of further ‘infection’ and start over from scratch.” Gou twisted in her seat, going back to her coloring now that the adults were done talking to her. “So here I am. Human as it’s possible for someone like me to be; complete with limited Drift Compatibility.”

“But—” Sousuke began, “You and Nanase, you were running simulations in the Prototype until just recently. How? If you couldn’t handle Drifting with him anymore.”

“Ah—well, we found a way around that.”

“Around the Drift?” His brows furrowed. “The Drift is everything.”

“It is—but there’s more than one way to get into it. Ways that…don’t involve Drivesuits and spinal clamps and neural bridges.”

Sousuke inhaled sharply, taking a step back. “You’re…the _Ghost Drift_? That’s just—a phantom, your mind playing tricks on you. It’s not actually a _thing_ you can use to get around the Bridge and Limbo.”

Rin shrugged, not much caring if Sousuke believed him or not. “Or maybe that’s what NBOs tell Pilots who start to experience it so they don’t shit themselves thinking there’s someone else mentally looking over their shoulder, so to speak.” Admittedly, though, Rin wasn’t being entirely truthful; he had no way of knowing if what he and Haru shared was something any typical pair of human Pilots might themselves be able to develop after a certain number of hours in the Drift together, or if the depth of their initial Drifts had already primed them to it. “Either way, it’s how we Drift now. Or—” He grimaced. “Drifted.”

Sousuke’s glower softened as he recalled Rin’s schedule—or lack thereof—over the previous few weeks. “…They took you off duty. After that open-water run.” He cocked his head in thought. “There was movement in the Breach that day; you only just made it back in time.”

Rin crossed his arms, leaning against the table. “When we Drift—when we go under the load of the Jaeger AI, something that _massive_ …the output we give is like a beacon. A neural signature that anyone else in the Drift, or anyone who knows what they’re looking for…can pick up. Read.” He grimaced. “Track.”

“Track? As in… _track_? Find you? Find _us_?”

“If by ’us’ you mean the other Jaegers, the Shatterdomes…then no. Besides, it’s not like you go out of your way to keep the location of these things secret. Which, by the way, is ridiculously stupid? But anyway—if they wanted you wiped out, you’d be gone, it would only be a matter of time. You’re annoying pests, and easily infiltrated if I’m anything to go by.” He shook his head. “They’d need the neural signatures they’re looking for on file already to track you. And they don’t keep humans’ neural signatures just lying around.” He smiled grimly. “They do, however, happen to know mine, apparently.”

“And I’m guessing you’re not their favorite person.”

“We don’t get along as well as we used to, no.” He sighed. “Every time we try to use the Ghost Drift to _actually_ Drift, when we put it under that level of strain—I give off a reading that they can detect through the Breach. Eventually, with enough time—with enough Drift sessions…they’re going to pinpoint my location.”

“And then…”

“You’re a smart guy; what would _you_ recommend be done if a Ranger was at risk of being compromised by the enemy?” He shrugged. “So we don’t give them the chance. We stay out of Conn Pods. Until the Marshal and his ‘crack team’ of scientists can figure out a way around it, at least.”

“You sound brimming with confidence.”

“If you’ve got suggestions, I’m all ears.”

Sousuke blinked uncertainly, then glanced at Gou, nodding. “How does she do it, then?”

“Do what?”

“Track you.”

In the kitchenette, Haru covered the soup pot and wandered over to join the conversation, and Rin shook his head. “I don’t follow.”

He pointed at Gou, as if Rin were merely confused as to who they were talking about. “A while back, that day I brought donuts by—she knew he was coming, before he even buzzed.” He nodded in Haru’s direction, and Haru’s frown deepened at the mention of those damned donuts. “Maybe ask her how she does it, then you can work out how to interfere with the signal or whatever.”

Rin flicked a wary glance over to Haru. “That’s…no, that wasn’t Gou. Haru just…told her, I guess. We all share our own Collective now. It’s just a matter of depositing knowledge, which then propagates to—”

“I didn’t do anything like that,” Haru butted in, adjusting the tie to his apron. 

“You what?”

He shook his head, frown less menacing and more confused and discomfited now; it was a rare sight. “I never told her; I never added anything.” He fixed Rin with a look. “You know how I feel about that.” And he was right, of course; Haru would never use the Collective to just announce his arrival. He saw it as demeaning its importance, of letting Gou think of it as something of a convenience rather than a tool. It wasn’t like him to use it for something so…frivolous.

“But—then…” He twisted around, one hand on Gou’s shoulder as she continued to scribble a crude depiction of their family. “Hey, kiddo?”

“Hmm…?” She didn’t turn from her work, so he dropped into a squat at her side.

“You know what we’re talking about?” She nodded. “Can you explain? How did you know Haru was coming, that day?”

She shrugged. “It’s easy to find Daddy and Papa; just gotta think about them.”

“ _Think_ about us?”

Another nod, and she glanced away from her work, smiling like she knew a secret and wasn’t keen to share it. “I think hard, like I want to see you—I do it a lot, when I’m with Sensei, ‘cause I miss you.”

And _shit_ there were some new emotions he was going to have to pick through later welling up within. He shoved them aside for the moment, just nodding until he collected himself. “All right; what do you think about, exactly? Like—our faces? Our voices?”

She cocked her head in thought, thin brows furrowing, and shook her head. “I dunno… I just think how I want to see you. It’s all the stuff about you.”

He shifted back upright, directing his thoughts back to Haru and Sousuke. “…She’s too young, she can’t accurately describe it, let alone understand it.”

“Do _you_ understand it?” Haru tried, and Rin balked; this was all mere speculation.

“…They’ve got my neural signature because I was connected to their Collective; maybe Gou’s latching on to the same thing? Maybe whatever innate _thing_ it is that makes up the signature, she’s come to associate it with us, and is able to use the hive mind to track us, no long-range sensors required?”

Haru didn’t seem certain—but then, Rin didn’t feel too sure of himself either. “What does that mean for us, then?”

“It’s just a beacon.”

Both Haru and Rin turned as one to face Sousuke, having nearly forgotten he was there. “What?”

“Like you said before—whatever you’re giving off, it’s a beacon. She’s noticed it; they’ve noticed it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I gather since you weren’t aware of it, you can’t turn it off. So…maybe try changing wavelengths.” He shrugged. “It’s like you’ve got an annoying ex who won’t stop blowing up your phone with texts; get a new number.”

“That’s…” Rin shook his head. “It’s not that simple; your neural signature’s unique. You can’t just go _rewriting_ it like data on a drive—”

“Maybe _we_ can’t…” Haru pressed, fingers braced along Rin’s arm to keep him calm, and Rin embraced the welcome ease of tension that came with contact. “…But can she?”

“Yeah,” Sousuke breathed, latching on to Haru’s suggestion. “She recognizes the signature—even if she can’t explain how, or _what_ she sees or thinks about. But what does that matter? All that matters is that she knows it.”

Rin felt his frustration rising. “It’s not _that_ —this is innate, like…part of who I am, who _Haru_ is. She can’t access that, and we can’t overwrite something we don’t even recognize.”

“…What if she could?” Haru offered, the confidence in his voice not entirely reflected in the worry heavy on his brow.

“…Haru?”

He tightened his fingers around Rin’s wrist. “…She could…push it. The way you did, before.”

“Push…” Rin trailed off, trying to remember when ‘before’ was—until suddenly he realized what Haru was suggesting. “No.” He shook his head to reinforce his stance. “No.”

“Hey—what’s ‘pushing’?”

Rin ignored Sousuke’s interruption. “She doesn’t know how.”

“You can teach her; you can give it to her.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re all about me _giving_ her things?” 

Haru’s expression faltered, but he quickly replaced it with stony stubbornness. “Better she learn it now than do it unconsciously down the line.”

Rin wanted to laugh; how the tables had turned. Now it was _Haru_ suggesting they take drastic steps, nip issues in the bud before they grew too unwieldy. “…It’s not something you should _want_ her to learn.”

“I don’t…” Haru admitted with a frown. “…But she needs to know. Because you need this.”

And in the end, it always came back to that. Haru, even now, wanted to protect Rin’s humanity, his happiness. Give him back his purpose. They could keep things up this way, continue as they were—Haru in the Kwoon most of the day, Rin hopping from lecture hall to lecture hall with no roots to speak of. But Rin was always going to be happier, more _fulfilled_ , inside the warm, cramped comfort of a Conn Pod, and Haru was always going to want to be right next to him, offering whatever support he could.

Which meant they couldn’t live like this, scared of the Drift—they needed to take it back, shed their old skin and don new mantles. Through Gou. Haru was willing to sacrifice this little shred of her innocence just so Rin could pull on a Drivesuit again.

And he wanted to do that so badly, he was willing to go along with it. He winced, swallowing thickly; great—more new emotions.

“Is anyone gonna explain what the hell ‘pushing’ is?”

Oh, right. He waved Sousuke away dismissively. “It’s what it sounds like—pushing, _forcing_ knowledge or emotions or reactions onto someone. There has to be a certain level of connection already—”

“Like a Drift?”

“A Drift, or in Gou’s case—access to the Collective. And through that, other consciousnesses with similar access.” Gou was glancing back and forth between the three of them now, confusion darkening her eyes, and Rin already wanted to apologize. Sharing between them was supposed to be something she looked forward to, but he wasn’t so sure she’d appreciate learning this trick. “You force your will, your way of _thinking_ onto the…well, the victim, really. Get in so deep, they can’t tell the thoughts they’re having aren’t their own, that the things they’re feeling aren’t how they really feel.”

“…That sounds dangerous. And underhanded.”

“Thanks for joining the conversation.” He spread his arms. “Any more ideas you’d like to contribute?”

“Hey—I’m not the one telling you to give her this…pushing, thing.”

No, he wasn’t. _Haru_ was. And Rin wanted to as well. It wasn’t right, but it was the truth. He’d never claimed to be up for Father-of-the-Year, after all.

He snorted to himself, as he rationalized _Hey, I’m only human._

“Well it’s the best we’ve got to go on at the moment—and I don’t like the idea of the Precursors finding some way to track me even outside a Drift.” It might only be a matter of time, after all, before their sensors became sensitive enough to pick up the faint blip of his signature in the Ghost Drift. And then they’d _truly_ be well and screwed. 

He knew what they needed to do; now, they just needed to get permission to _do_ it. He frowned at Sousuke, steeling himself.

He was so going to get fired for this.


	9. Chapter 9

The recruits who’d been milling about the Pons Room, enjoying a lecture on the finer points of Pons training and when they might expect to secure some time in their own units to assess their sync ratios, practically tripped over themselves as they scrambled for the exits when the Marshal stalked in and barked at the group to give them some privacy. Most hadn’t seen the Marshal since the opening ceremony welcoming them to the Shatterdome, though, and even as they scurried from the room, they cast curious, awestruck glances his way, likely imagining some far-off future scenario where he heaped praises upon them and decorated them with medals and bars.

In short order, however, the room was empty of all save the Marshal, Amakata-sensei, Tachibana, Sousuke, Haru, Gou, and Rin himself—an unpleasantly awkward group if ever there was one. Tachibana strode forward, the first to break ranks, and began looking over one of the Pons units, while the Marshal rounded on them, keeping his voice carefully controlled likely only out of respect for Gou, who cowered behind Haru’s legs warily.

“Do you speak Japanese, Matsuoka?”

Rin bit back a snappy retort; he actually had a whole arsenal of human languages at his disposal, but he doubted that was what the Marshal was actually asking. After a moment’s beat, he replied with, “…I do, Sir.”

“Then do you mind telling me,” Sasabe followed, drawing so close Rin could smell the curry he’d had for dinner on his breath, “what part of my _explicit orders_ to stay away form Ranger Yamazaki was unclear?” He jabbed a finger in Sousuke’s direction, driving home the point. “Because I assume you just didn’t understand me, that you didn’t go _out of your way_ to divulge classified information to someone without clearance. Because that would be a _death wish_.”

Rin wanted to bite out that _Sousuke_ had been the one to brow-beat Rin into submission, that Rin had _tried_ to do as ordered, but he’d kept pushing and pushing and _pushing_. He supposed he could throw Tachibana under the bus, claim he’d been encouraged to be more open about his true nature with those around him, but Haru would give him hell for it, and truthfully, Tachibana didn’t deserve it. Instead, he swallowed thickly and explained, “…It became unavoidable. And if I may point out, sir—we have bigger fish to fry. If you’re going to put us before a firing squad, maybe wait until we’ve resolved this Drifting issue first?”

He thought that throbbing vein in the Marshal’s head was going to pop, so red did he go in the face, and it was only Amakata-sensei’s cool interruption that kept the tension from escalating even further. “I presume you didn’t call us down here for some tea and a pleasant chat? That you had some _reason_ for involving the good Ranger Yamazaki in our…little debacle?”

Rin took a step back, straightening his shoulders, and nodded once, sharply, before striding over toward Tachibana, who had now prepped one of the Pons units and was now seeing to another. “We know from the readouts during our Drifts that somehow, the Precursors have a bead on my—and probably Haru’s—neural signatures and are using those signatures to track us whenever we go into the Drift.” He glanced back at Tachibana. “Right?”

A nod. “That’s what we think is happening, at least.”

“Not exactly the solid confirmation I was looking for, but let’s go with it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t know what that signature looks like, or how to measure it, or anything that might help us hide it or scramble it or _anything_ to keep ourselves from being tracked, and given that you’ve all been avoiding eye contact with us over the last few weeks, I’m going to assume none of _you_ know how to either.”

“Get to the point, Matsuoka,” the Marshal barked, tone pressed and impatient.

“The point…is that none of us know how to keep me and Haru from lighting up like a Christmas tree in Limbo when we make the jump into the Drift. None of us—” He extended a hand, gesturing to Gou. “Except one.”

“Wh—” the Marshal sputtered. “Your _kid_?”

Haru squatted low, taking Gou into his arms and lifting her with some effort—they wouldn’t be able to carry her around like this for likely more than another month or so. He stepped over to stand alongside Rin, a united front.

Rin took one of her hands in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze, keeping his eyes on her while he explained their conclusions: “Turns out she still had some unexplored depths to her: she can track us. Knows where we are—me and Haru—just by thinking about us.”

“Knows where you…” Amakata-sensei started warily, a thin frown pursing her lips, and he could already hear her mind whirring with questions she would pepper them with later. “Supposing that’s true—what does that have to do with keeping the Precursors from finding you when you enter a Drift?”

“Only someone who already knows where we are can help hide us, considering neither Haru nor I have the first clue about how we’re even being stalked. If she can recognize whatever it is that they’re monitoring—”

“That sounds like an awfully big ‘if’,” Amakata-sensei warned, frowning piteously at Gou now.

“—if she can recognize it, it stands to reason she can change it.”

Amakata-sensei crossed her arms, drawing closer as she evaluated the three of them. “…While I follow your logic, I’m not entirely sure the real-life applications will be quite so simple. Your neural signature, the very thing we’re presuming the Precursors are tracking, isn’t something you can change like moving to a new address or switching phone numbers. It’s…innate. It’s part of your brain function, how your mind responds to the neural stimulation of the Drift. You’d have to…” She blinked and shook her head, “Honestly I’m not sure _what_ you’d have to do to change that, short of getting a brain transplant, perhaps.”

Rin smiled grimly, patting Gou’s shoulder and stepping back towards the group. “We were thinking of something only slightly less invasive.” He pitched his voice slightly softer, just enough to where he could keep from dragging Gou into this mess for a little bit longer. He would explain it to her—but on his own terms, not the bloodless, lifeless version he was presenting here. “This neural signature? It’s not something Haru or I are conscious of; only _her_. She can find it, recognize it.”

“We heard you the first time, dammit—what’s the good in seeing it for what it is if you can’t do anything to hide it or change it?”

Rin nodded. “She can’t change it, no. Not…not yet, at least.”

The Marshal inhaled sharply. “…I’m about to want to drop you back into the Breach, aren’t I?”

Rin shrugged, pressing on. “Like Amakata-sensei said, altering the neural signature requires altering the brain’s output, changing how it responds to certain stimulation. That’s something innate—usually.” He cocked his head. “But…there’s something we can do—well, I can do. An ability to…prompt the brain to respond a certain way; however you want it to respond, really.”

“Prompt…” the Marshal repeated flatly. “I do _not_ like the sound of this, Matsuoka.”

“I’m not here to give you happy news; just our only real option.” He licked his lips, flicking his gaze back to Gou. “I can…give her this ability. This skill. Through the Collective—and then she can use it to alter our neural signatures to something else, remake them in her image. And in doing so, hopefully mask us from any further tracking.”

“Let me get this straight, you mean to tell me…” The Marshal stepped near again, voice low and threatening, “…that you can _root around in people’s minds_ and screw with their brains?”

“No, that’s _not_ what I mean to tell you,” Rin responded coolly, “Or I’d consider making a few personality adjustments to certain members of the present company. Sir.” He took a breath to center himself. “It’s a defense mechanism, one I’m not proud to have deployed before—but one which I don’t regret using, as it saved not only my life but Haru’s too.”

“Nanase?” The Marshal’s brow creased in confusion. “You _did_ this? To Nanase?”

“I did. And we’re both alive because of it. I’d do it again, too, if necessary.” He winced inwardly at the twang of apprehension that vibrated over the Thread, and while he wanted to reassure Haru he was just putting on a tough front for the Marshal, he wasn’t entirely sure how true that would ring.

The Marshal glanced back and forth now between Rin and Haru, the pieces falling into place. “So you’ve had this ability…to screw with Nanase’s mind—and not just his mind, but from what you’re all saying, the very _core_ of his being…and you didn’t think about _bringing this up_?”

Rin wanted to laugh at the hypocrisy, wanted to snarl that now was _not_ the time to be wailing about important information being kept from the ears of those who ought to be privy to it, and it was only Haru’s warning tug on their Thread that kept him in check, once again banking the fires Rin longed to let burn hot and fierce. “You never _asked_ ,” he went with instead, forcing a smarmy grin that hid the sneer he wanted to unleash. “Besides—I can’t influence anyone I’m not connected to through a Drift.”

“If I recall correctly, you and I had a go at a Drift once.”

“And yet you remain your charming self, Sir. No harm done.”

Sasabe licked his lips, coughing a dry chuckle and shaking his head. “You want something from me, and now you’re cracking jokes? You really _must_ have a death wish after all, Matsuoka.” He then sobered. “You realize this is the second time I’ve had to pull your ass from the fire, right?”

Rin wanted to point out that neither a year ago nor now would Sasabe himself be doing any saving, rescuing, or ass-pulling whatsoever; this was all a formality, keeping his superiors and the people who _did_ need to be involved—like Tachibana and Amakata-sensei—in the loop. Instead, though, he simply reminded, “And the first time, you got a year’s reprieve from Kaiju attacks.”

Sasabe nodded. “So what am I gonna get this time, then?”

Rin glanced around innocently. “Well, if we don’t do this, and the Precursors eventually find me—because they will, even if I never hop in a Conn Pod again; we can’t turn off the Ghost Drift, and eventually they’ll hone in on even the weakest beacon I’m giving off—they’re not gonna hesitate to tear this Shatterdome apart to get to me and Haru.”

The Marshal shrugged, unfazed. “I can always transfer you.” He jerked his chin in Sousuke’s direction. “Maybe let you follow Yamazaki up to Anchorage and spill the rest of the classified information you’re privy to on the ride there. Save me the trouble of cleaning up this mess you’ve made.”

“Can we…perhaps get back on point, gentlemen?” Amakata-sensei interrupted mildly, though her tone was somewhat strained, and Rin didn’t doubt she was holding herself back from slapping sense into the both of them. “Can you elaborate any on what this ‘ability’ is? It doesn’t _damage_ , does it? Because if there’s any risk, we shouldn’t jump to such drastic measures just yet.”

Not for the first time, Rin was grateful she was around to help keep their tempers cool; oftentimes he longed to just explode, but balancing existences like Haru and Amakata were crucial to ensuring that matters progressed relatively smoothly. “Drastic is putting it mildly, but…” He scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably. “It’s as safe as it can be, considering it’s essentially forcing your will onto someone else, remapping their neural roadways to how you want them to lay.”

Sasabe glanced warily over at Haru, likely trying to recall if he’d noticed anything ‘off’ about their Fightmaster since Rin’s arrival. “…And you’re sure she’s up for this?”

This time, Rin _did_ laugh at the hypocrisy. “What, _now_ you’re worried about her well-being?”

His face flushed defensively. “More that I’m shocked you’d so much as suggest this after that ass-reaming you gave me the other day.” He punctuated with a sneer, “Guess you’re not as human as you’d like to think, then.”

He could feel the tight tension of the Thread being tugged taut, Haru stiffening in a guilty panic, and the uncomfortable echo of the emotion washed through Rin, rippling down his spine and curling in his gut. Of all the emotions he’d yet experienced, he loathed Guilt the most—because, he presumed, he had so many things to feel guilty _for_ and so that particular emotion tended to stick with him.

Haru was feeling it now, though—feeling guilty for suggesting they use Gou, just as the Marshal wanted to use her, just as the PPDC would use her if they ever found out about her. When had Haru become like this? Had he been this way, before? So driven, so focused? Or was this _Rin_ ’s fault, bits of himself bleeding over into Haru and giving him this cold, calculating outlook?

It didn’t bear considering. Rin didn’t really want to know. He wiped a hand over his face and rubbed at his eyes in irritation. “This is to protect her, too. Call me a hypocrite or inhuman if you want—but either help us, or get out of our way. If you’re intent on giving me shit for breaking protocol and going against your orders, let me at least make sure my family’s gonna be okay first.”

Sasabe snorted softly, rolling his eyes. “You’re developing a flair for the dramatic; can’t say I approve of _that_ either. We’ll have our discussion—later. But Nanase’s a first-rate Fightmaster, and I’d hate to have to ship him overseas or lose him to a Kaiju raid thanks to you, so if you need our cooperation, I’ll bend the rules for you. Again. However—” He drew close, crossed arms brushing Rin’s chest. “You’re gonna make a choice—if you want respect, if you want to be treated like a _man_ , a human one, then you need to start _giving it_. No more of these ‘sir’s dripping with disdain or sneers or any of that crap. You’ll behave like a soldier and respect rank like one. Or you’ll keep getting treated exactly like the monster you whine that you aren’t.” He raised a brow. “You think you’re special—and you are. But being special just means you’ll have special duties, not get special _treatment_. So long as you’re operating out of my Shatterdome, you’ll play by my rules, obey my commands, and give me no shit for it. Are we clear?”

Rin practically had to bite his lip to keep from snarling, but he held himself in check this time with minimal prodding from Haru, closing his eyes once to center himself before nodding firmly. “…Understood, Sir.” He couldn’t very well lecture Sousuke about accepting a cage if he wasn’t prepared to wait patiently behind bars himself, after all. This would just mean more hours in the Kwoon and laps in the natatorium to burn off the frustration.

“Excellent.” Sasabe turned on his heel, fixing his attention on Amakata-sensei. “He’s all yours, Sensei.”

She gave him a hard look, lips pursed, then strode forward, pulling out her tablet as she approached. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to take a few readings—on the both of you—before you try this…knowledge sharing.”

Rin nodded mutely, giving himself over to the poking and prodding. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Haru whispering something to Gou, before letting her slip down to the floor and directing her toward Rin. He held out a hand, drawing her to his side as he waited for Amakata-sensei to finish her evaluation.

It would be the first time they’d ever done this in such a public venue; Amakata had been trying for months to get them to let her hook them up to her gadgets when they shared knowledge through the Collective, keen to assess their brain activity during the process, but Rin had always agreed with Haru: it was a special connection between them, something uniquely theirs, a precious moment to share something with Gou that she would treasure for the rest of her life. He didn’t want others around, gawking—less so now than usual.

Because he wasn’t about to teach her how to read or multiply large sums, he wasn’t about to give her the Butterfly or the Jaeger Bushido mantra. He was going to give her one of the most shameful memories he owned—and then ask her to repeat it. It wouldn’t matter, when all was said and done, that Rin and Haru _wanted_ this, _wanted_ her rooting around in their minds and rearranging their neural pathways. She’d see it just as Rin saw it: forcing herself on another human being, on someone she cared for. And she’d regret it, just like he did.

He’d known they wouldn’t be able to keep her ignorant and innocent forever. He just wished this didn’t have to be the first thing they taught her.

“All done,” Amakata announced far too quickly, retreating to give them privacy, and Rin grimaced as he slipped down to one knee and took Gou’s other hand in his free grip.

“What’d your dad tell you?”

Gou’s eyes flicked over to where Haru stood several paces away. “Said you were gonna give me something, so I could help keep you and him safe.” She cocked her head, glancing back to Rin now. “…Are you in trouble?”

He forced a smile, shaking his head. “Nothing we can’t handle. The Marshal’s bark is worse than his bite.” She seemed to mull this over, clearly unconvinced given the display just now. “But—I _am_ gonna give you something. If you want it.”

She brightened slightly, her keen excitement for new knowledge warring with her worry over the dour atmosphere permeating the room. “Of course I want it.”

“Now don’t say that ’til I’ve shown you what it is,” he warned; he was determined to leave this as _her_ choice. He didn’t doubt they had limited time to resolve this issue of not being able to Drift without throwing up a flare, but if she didn’t want this knowledge for whatever reason, then he wasn’t going to force her. “It’s…it’s tough to deal with. And it’s dangerous to use without understanding it. So I’m gonna help you understand what it is, first—and then you can decide if you want it. Okay?”

Her face fell, thin brows drawing together warily. “…Is it bad?”

He gave silent thanks she hadn’t asked _Why are you giving it to me then?_ but maybe that was coming later. “It’s…not bad, really. Just dangerous, like I said. You know how we don’t let you go swimming unless one of us is around? It’s not ‘cause swimming’s bad. It just can be dangerous; and we want you to be safe.” Her mouth made an _o_ of understanding, and she nodded. “Good—now close your eyes; I’m gonna give you a memory first. Then you can decide if you want to be able to do the same thing I did in the memory. Okay?”

“‘Kay,” she allowed, her lashes already fluttering shut, and her nose crinkled as she scrunched her features in concentration. Rin allowed himself one last fond look, committing the image to memory—the very last time she'd be this innocent, this untouched by their war—and then opened himself up and poured out his soul.

The memory came in flashes, as Rin struggled to focus his mind. It wanted to flit to a million different thoughts, other memories, dreaded futures-to-come and hypothetical what-ifs. He latched with wicked talons and the razor-sharp teeth of a predator into the memory of himself, locked inside a Conn Pod meters below the surface, sharing headspace with Haru and feeling anew the mounting pressure of his brethren pressing down all around him, sniffing for the source of that _other_. Desperate to rend Haru apart from the inside out.

He heard the klaxons blaring, felt his eyes burn with the blaze of red siren light coating the Pod, and withdrew into his own mind, baring himself for Gou to see, to take into herself, to make the memory her own.

He showed her his fear spiking at the announcement of activity in the Breach, made sure she felt the adrenaline surge and the biting gall of terror that something, out there in the dark, or maybe inside them, somewhere in Limbo, was coming for Haru. Had finally _found_ him and was snaking its way with dark, groping tentacles to drive him mad from the pressure and _presence_ inside his mind.

He gave her his own rising desperation, feeling cornered with no other option but to dive into Haru’s mind before the Others could reach him, kick aside his stubborn refusal to move and imprint on him an animalistic fear that would make him choose flight over fight. He couldn’t show her the pain and confusion Haru himself had been feeling just then—that was Haru’s to share, if he ever cared too—but he didn’t need to.

He could feel her fingers, curled through his own, trembling where her sweaty palm was pressed against his, and her pulse raced with the same frantic terror his own had as he did the last thing he could think of—and Pushed.

He kept the knowledge of _how_ just at bay—he didn’t want to give her this, not yet, not until she was ready and asked for it, fully informed. But he showed her what he did, showed her that he entered a mind just as foreign and brazen as those inky tentacles in Limbo, showed her that he pulled his own will and pushed and pushed and pushed until he’d worn down the barriers of Self and made his thoughts and desires and urges Haru’s own. He wanted her to understand what she’d be doing, the power she would wield, which would be no less dangerous just because she could only use it against her parents—or anyone else she Drifted with in the future.

And then he made sure she saw Haru, through his eyes: saw him give in, saw him accept the fear as his own without understanding where it had come from, saw him stagger out of the Conn Pod through the escape hatch at Rin’s side, trembling with exhaustion.

He made no excuses, offered no explanation; there _was_ no excusing it, after all. There was only accepting what he’d done. Haru liked to think he could use it for good—wanted to be able to Push calm and stability onto Rin when he got off-kilter. But that wasn’t what this was for. This was piggybacking on Precursor channels to deliver orders, using innate connections built to keep monsters properly leashed to do exactly that: force someone else to do your bidding.

Haru might try to be altruistic about it, but Rin wouldn’t pretend. Not if he was going to teach Gou this. No, she’d learn the whole ugly truth and then decide if she wanted to do this to them.

He let the memory snap back, forcing it away into the recesses of his mind, and prayed Haru wouldn’t pick it up, now that he’d deposited it for them all to share. He’d humiliated himself in front of one person he loved today; he didn’t want them both realizing how ashamed he felt.

Gou gasped as she was released from the memory, and she collapsed into him, burying her face in his jacket and squeezing tight. “It’s okay, Papa; it’s okay,” she murmured into the fabric, voice thick with emotion and trying to draw him closer still. He could feel her tiny body still trembling from the exertion, but she forced out words of comfort and reassurance all the same, and he struggled not to crush her against him.

He wanted to apologize, to tell her it was enough—he understood, she didn’t have to accept it, didn’t have to learn. But he couldn’t work his throat around the lump that had lodged in it, so he settled for just pouring his affection for her into their little Collective, hoping she’d sift through and find it, assimilate it.

“…It’s scary,” she confessed quietly, voice nearly lost where she still had her face pressed into the thick material of his jacket.

“Yeah…” he agreed, drawing her even closer and trying to wrap himself bodily around her. “It is.”

“…But you had to do it. To save Daddy.”

“…I…that doesn’t make it feel any better.”

“No…” she allowed, drawing in deep, labored breaths. “It doesn’t…” And he might have taken the comment as her way of asking him not to do this to her, had she not added, “Can I help make it better?”

Some dark part of him wondered, at her wording, if he could ask her to take that memory away—to paint over it with something else, to make him think he’d instead convinced Haru to leave of his own will, to follow him out of the Drift and into the safety of a ship heading back to harbor without having to force him to feel so terrified of what was coming that he _fled_ the Conn Pod. He could ask her—and she’d do it, because she loved him and wanted him to feel better.

But he’d be lying to himself, and more importantly, he’d be asking this of her for entirely selfish reasons, instead of only half-selfish as he was doing now. Striking down the urge to give in to her offer, he steered the conversation back to the task at hand, steadying his grip on her shoulder and tugging her away so she had to look him in the eye. “…We need you to do something for us. But only if you want to. You can say no, it’s totally fine—we’ll find another way.” He raised a brow to impress upon her how serious he was, hoping to relieve her of any pressure to fall one way or the other.

But the firmness to her jaw and the clarity in her eyes said her mind was already drawing in this new knowledge, evolving, maturing into a state beyond childish innocence that understood, on some level, that there was a threat in need of neutralizing. Maybe it was those bits of Kaiju DNA threading through her genetic code, inspiring an animalistic urge to fight and protect those close to her. Rin felt it sometimes, too, and he hoped if he’d passed anything on to her, she got _that_. He liked that sense of purpose it gave him, and he wanted her to experience it too. “You want me to Push?”

A nod. “Yeah; we need you to do it to us. Me and Haru.” Her wary frown turned downright betrayed, and she began to shake her head. “Hey—hey, no, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s scary, I know, and it doesn’t feel good to do it, especially to someone you love, but…this is one of those have-to times, like when I did it.”

“But—you said you weren’t in trouble…”

“And we’re not—not from the Marshal. Remember? His bark’s worse than his bite. No, these bad guys are serious business, and…” He licked his lips, guarding his wording carefully so as not to leave her feeling obligated to help. “You know how you can always figure out where Haru or I are, when you wanna find us?” A nod. “Well—the bad guys can do that too. They know how to find us, and…that means they might hurt people we care about to try and get to us.”

“Like Mako-chan? And Sou-chan? And Ama-chan-sensei?”

Rin winced. “‘Ama-chan-sensei’? Where the hell—never mind.” He took a deep breath. "Yeah. Like them. And we shouldn't be asking you to do this—"

"You don't want to give it to me?" she interrupted, tone almost _vexed_ , as if she were growing impatient with Rin, and Rin frowned.

"Well...no. No I don't. You'll hurt, doing it—and...I'll feel bad, knowing that I was responsible for it."

"But, if you don't, then...won't other people be in trouble?" She cocked her head, trying to follow the thread of conversation. "You and Daddy, Mako-chan and Sou-chan and Ama-chan-sensei? Didn't you say?"

He pursed his lips, giving a nod. "Yeah. I did say that. But I also said...that just because something might be for the best...doesn't make it feel any better." He reached out to brush a few strands of her hair behind an ear. "You're just so young, is all."

She puffed out her chest, reminding haughtily, "I'm one whole years old now!"

And he had to chuckle, shaking his head. "You're right—you're getting on up there in Kaiju years." He sobered quickly, though, being sure to catch her focus with a sharp gaze. "This is serious, though. Adult stuff. Once you learn this, you can't unlearn it. I can't take it away from you. And I can't take away anything you might feel...from doing it."

Her mouth thinned, and she reached up to place her hand over his where it cupped along her jaw. "I wanna save you from the bad guys."

Rin flicked a final, confirming glance Haru's way, relieved to see that Haru had kept silent watch the whole time instead of looking away distractedly, not wanting to face reality. The nod he received by way of response was accompanied by a soft, comforting vibration along their Thread, and he felt it swell into a movement of reassurance within. They couldn't go back, couldn't undo what Rin was about to do—but they could be here with her to guide her along the way and be sure she owned her heritage and used it to keep the people she loved safe, like she so clearly wanted to do. "...All right, then; here goes."

He took another deep breath and opened himself up again, shoving aside the memories that wanted to pour out and fill their Collective and instead sifting through to find the abilities he was most ashamed of, the ones he kept buried deep in the hopes he might forget how to use them. He latched onto that innate sense of knowing just where lay the fine fibers connecting mind to mind, drawing in the understanding of how to shift those fibers about, to use them—and then he dumped it all into the Collective and almost _instantly_ felt Gou soak it up like a sponge. She inhaled the knowledge, grasping and driven, and Rin could already feel it changing her, maturing her, giving her the first weapons she would ever be outfitted with in a war she wasn't meant to be part of. 

Her fingers tightened on his biceps where she now gripped him, and after a moment, her eyes snapped open, still bright and eager but hiding, Rin knew, knowledge and _experience_ in truly hurting someone in the most intimate way possible. Something they were about to ask her to do. "...All good?" he pressed softly, brows lifting, and he knew it was a stupid question, because of _course_ this wasn't good, but she still nodded, taking a breath and releasing it slowly as she glanced around, taking everyone in before letting her gaze settle on Haru. Something passed between them, and Rin bit back the little sliver of jealousy that threatened to rear its ugly head; he and Haru had different relationships with Gou, different levels on which they communicated, and it should have come as no surprise that someone as untalkative as Haru would find ways to communicate with Gou that didn't rely on words. Still, it reminded him of his own inability to really effectively communicate with Haru sometimes, and it stung. 

Before he could dwell overly long on their exchange, though, the Marshal butted in with all the delicacy of a bulldozer, "So? Are we ready? What next? Should we pull up chairs and make ourselves comfortable, or are we going to resolve this sometime today?"

Without prompting, Haru joined Rin and Gou where they were still crouched, settling down beside them and taking one of their hands each. After a quick tightening of his grip that likely fell in place of the kiss he wanted to give Rin—for luck, he'd probably say, but Rin doubted Haru believed in luck—he turned his attention to Gou. "...Do you know what you need to do?"

Not giving her a chance to respond, certain she'd display all of Rin's false bravado she'd inherited and claim she was ready to go, Rin clarified just in case, "Do...whatever it is you do, when you want to find us—that's how the bad guys can track us. That image of us you think of, the essence of who we are...that's what you need to find. That's what you need to _change_. It doesn't matter what you change it _to_ , just so long as it's something only you'll recognize."

She brightened for a moment, excitement glimmering in her eyes, "Can I make Daddy a mackerel?"

"Yes," Haru agreed instantaneously, just as Rin bit out, " _Absolutely not_ ," and he cut Haru a chiding glare. "Whatever—fine, make him a mackerel if you have to."

"Make Rin an onion. Because he cries so much."

"Dammit, Haru—stop _confusing_ her," he bit out, frustration leaking into his tone, but the fleeting little sparkle he caught in Haru's eye assured him that this was largely an effort to ease the tension of the moment. This was important—but nerves could result in irreparable error. They needed her to enjoy this, as much as that was possible with what they were asking her to do. A spoonful of sugar, and all that rot. "Just...find our signatures, find what it is you latch on to when you want to know where we are, how near or far we are from you, when we'll be with you again. Find it, then force it to change. Make us believe it's something else. It can be anything—let your imagination run wild." As soon as the words left his lips, though, he flashed back to the crude drawings decorating the walls of their apartments and wondered if he hadn't just dug his own grave. Too late to back out now, though. He lifted his brows and forced a smile. "Think you can handle that?"

She glanced down at their hands, clasping her own, and squeezed back with reassurance. "...I'll save you this time, Daddy. Just watch."

He didn't bother telling her he wouldn't be able to look away even if he wanted to.

As a unit, their eyes fell shut, and he tried to clear his mind, ensuring Gou had no distractions when she did...whatever it was she was going to do. He didn't know how she would find their signatures, only knew—or hoped—that she would do so, would alter them into something new and unique that she would be able to summon up in her thoughts and pick out of the miasma of consciousnesses about them as their own. He liked that idea, when he stopped to think about it: she'd never have to worry that they might not come back to her, would always be able to direct a team to find them, or ride out to fetch them herself. Granted, it also meant they would never truly be able to expect privacy from her, but it was hard to feel uncomfortable about that now. Sousuke had gone his whole life in a limbo of his own—wondering, wishing, hoping that his Matsuoka Rin was still out there, somewhere. Gou would never have to fear that or experience that same ignorance and uncertainty.

And to his shock, he could _feel_ it. Could _feel_ her probing and seeking, trying to lay hands to the pathways she was meant to rearrange, and while it didn't hurt, it was still _palpable_ , on some level, and he shuddered inwardly at the realization that on top of the horror and pain of having his mind invaded by Rin's brethren, Haru had had to deal with the eerie sensation of Rin himself poking about inside his mind. But even as a new wave of guilt threatened to crest and flood its banks, he felt himself calming, felt the urge to blame himself fading, and wondered if this was Gou, Pushing him to change his views, or Haru's comforting reassurance bleeding over. The rush of affection that followed could have belonged to either one of them—or both, even, conspiring to keep him from sinking in his own dark mire of self-loathing.

Something flickered, above all the darkness of his mind, like soft light filtered through water, the ripples of waves casting shadows into the gloom below. He craned his neck, wincing at the blinding brilliance, and gasped as something whipped through the—water? Emptiness? Headspace?—above, momentarily blotting out the light piercing through from the surface before disappearing in a flash of dark and light and angles. He glanced around, feeling an adrenaline surge, though he couldn't pin down the reason for it, but every time he thought he had a bead on it, whatever _it_ was, it slipped out of sight, just beyond his reach. He wondered for a panicked moment if it was the Kaiju, come back for him—the Precursors had finally managed to get a lock on his signature, and now _something_ was here with him, ready to rend him from the inside out.

But no, the Kaiju had always been present as inky, grasping tentacles that ripped and tugged and tore, not a sleek torpedo powering through his peripheral vision. The tentacles always made him want to turn away, to leave the animals to their primal drives—but this...he _wanted_ to see this. He just _couldn't_. 

The search for whatever it was distracted him so much, that he wanted to cry out in real, _physical_ pain when he was finally jerked out of the experience and landed, flat on his ass, back in the Pons Room, breathing heavily and blinking in rapid staccato to try and bring everything back into focus. He wasn't in Limbo, he wasn't underwater, he wasn't chasing some phantom image that teased at the corners of his vision—he was back, surrounded by friends and less-than-friends, with Gou's and Haru's hands gripped tight in his own sweaty palms.

Gou had her gaze fixed on the grated floor between them, tiny shudders wracking her body, and her cheeks were flushed—but she quickly made a fist and rubbed at her eyes, inhaling sharply as she pasted a hopeful smile on her lips. "Did...Did I do good?" 

Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she'd been crying, and her tiny voice was thick with emotion, and Rin felt all of the guilt and self-loathing that had disappeared in Limbo threaten to come flooding back—but Haru placed a quelling hand on his shoulder, answering for the both of them. "You showed us a sight we'd never seen before. Thank you." Rin raised a brow at him, but Haru was already calling out to Tachibana, "Are the pods ready?"

"Pods?" Sasabe cut in, and Rin had almost forgotten they had an audience.

Rin gingerly stood back up, wincing at the cramping muscles in his legs and lower back. "How'd you think we were gonna see if it worked?" Sasabe's warning frown reminded Rin of the 'agreement' they'd come to moments earlier, though, and he cleared his throat, explaining, "We can't measure a negative reaction—so we figured the easiest way to determine the success or failure of Gou's Pushing would be...to just get back in a unit and see if our Drift triggered any Breach activity."

"That seems awfully rash and foolhardy—this could be the straw that breaks the camel's back. If she made the most _minute_ of errors—"

Rin felt a defensive retort hot on his lips, burning to be released, but Tachibana jumped in this time, reassuring, "It'll be a shallow Drift, and we're receiving live feeds of Breach data direct from the K-watch team. We'll know immediately of any activity the moment we fire up the Pons."

"Unless you'd like to volunteer for another go with me, Sir?" Rin offered with a benign, sharp-toothed smile, and Sasabe snorted in irritation before stomping over to the LOCCENT setup Tachibana had erected. Before stepping over to take his place in the pods, Rin prodded Gou, gesturing towards Amakata-sensei. "Go hang out with Sensei for a few? We're gonna make sure it worked—decide if we're clear for missions again." She nodded mutely, releasing his hand to join Amakata, but Rin halted her with one hand on her shoulder, and leaned down to thank her with a soft, "...Even if it didn't work...you were still really brave, okay?"

Her cheeks, still flushed from the ordeal, pinked further with pride, and she nodded sharply before darting into Amakata-sensei's waiting arms. He felt someone draw close to his side, and fingers brushing over his knuckles sent a rush of calm shuddering down his spine like snowmelt over a magma-hot mountainside. He inhaled deeply, before releasing the breath in a slow, measured exhalation. 

"...I don't regret it," Haru admitted softly, his gaze fixed on Gou who was now chatting animatedly with Amakata and even trying to draw Sousuke into their conversation. "We needed this. We needed her."

"Yeah..." Rin allowed, smile tense with regret. "That doesn't make it feel better."

"She's strong; she'll adapt, grow, learn. We'll teach her." He added, in a knowing tone. "...And she'll teach you."

"She'll teach me?" Rin frowned. "Teach me what?"

"To stop blaming yourself for saving the life of someone you care for." He grabbed Rin's wrist and jerked him forward, making for the Pons units. "And I'll help."

* * *

"...She's asleep?"

A nod. "It's barely 8; I guess the day's events wiped her out early."

Rin slid over on the mattress where he sat, back to the wall, reviewing the readouts from their mock-Drift in the Pons units, and Haru settled next to him. "Forcing your way into another's mind and rewriting their neural pathways will do that to a kid." He smiled ruefully at the look Haru gave him. "Kidding. But I can't imagine it was easy on her, in any sense."

Haru _hmph_ ed softly beside him, leaning closer to press their shoulders together and enjoy the warmth of the closeness and the comforting sense of completion the connection provided. A few long beats of silence passed between them, only the soft _pat pat_ of Rin's fingers flicking across his tablet punctuating the stillness, before Haru finally muttered, "...I'm sorry."

"For what?" Rin allowed evenly, still half-focused on his task.

"You want a list?" And at this, Rin dropped the tablet onto his lap, turning to lock eyes with Haru to see just how serious he was being—which, Haru was pretty much _always_ serious.

Rin sighed, settling back against the wall again. "Indulge me."

"...For pushing you with Yamazaki. Forcing your hand."

"Yeah, you were kind of a dick. But—" he added with a shrug, "At least I finally got to see you angry?"

Haru frowned, clearly not satisfied that Rin was taking this seriously enough. "And...for Gou. For...suggesting that you..." He couldn't bring himself to put it into words, and for once, Rin had no desire for him to do so. He could guess easily enough how the explanation would come.

It had worked—or, near as they could tell, it had. There hadn't been a blip or burp from the Breach the entire time they'd been in the admittedly weaker-than-usual Drift, nor had either Rin or Haru felt anything different. Amakata-sensei had insisted on taking EEGs after the ordeal, intent on comparing her findings to previous readings she'd taken at regular check-ups, but Tachibana had reassured them that while their readouts in the Drift weren't exactly the same, new little peaks and valleys making themselves known where previously there'd been none, the data was completely normal and well within healthy ratios. "I wouldn't let our guard down just yet, but...I'm cautiously optimistic," he had announced, relief clear on his features, and the thread of tension that had coiled about all present for weeks finally, _finally_ started to ease.

Rin licked his lips, sniffing as he reached for Haru's hand to thread their fingers together. He had callouses where Rin didn't, from years of binding his hands or gripping weapons like the quarterstaves they sometimes sparred with, but he was far more nimble and dextrous than Rin could ever hope to be, all the same. He could slice and dice a basket of potatoes in less time than it took Rin to peel an apple without leaving half of it on the rind. Rin brought his hand to his lips, resting them against Haru's knuckles and inhaling his scent as his eyes fluttered shut. "You were just braver than me; you both were today." He ought to be the one apologizing; he was the reason they were all in this mess to begin with. "I never would've been able to do what needed to be done..."

"I thought you were supposed to be the cold, reckless one," Haru teased gently, and Rin snorted, keeping Haru's hand pressed between his own against his cheek. He just wanted to feel this connection for a little bit, to sit here skin-on-skin and recharge his batteries. "...I'm going to start bringing her into the Kwoon on Monday." His eyes snapped open, but he didn't move a muscle, letting Haru explain himself. "There are children's classes one of the sub-Instructors run twice a week—and I'll take a half hour with her myself in private afterward, get her started on the Bushido basics."

Rin let a beat of silence pass before he reminded, "...You could just give it to her, straight. Wait a couple of years until she's fit enough to make proper use of anything you teach her, then just...share it." It was an out, a way to keep her ignorant and innocent for just a little longer, where Haru at least could let her hold on to a sliver of her childhood, even if Rin didn't have that luxury anymore. "You don't have to—"

"I know," Haru cut in, gripping Rin's hand tight where he still held it against his cheek, and he pressed his forehead into Rin's bicep, breathing deep. "But she'll need the experience, the muscle memory, the training—and I want to give it to her."

_She's strong_ , Haru had said—and Rin wondered which of them had given her that strength, because it really didn't feel like it had been Rin just about now. "...I think she'll like it," he added, more to reassure himself than Haru. "And I can help; two heads'll be better than one, right?"

Haru pulled away, one brow lifted. "...You'd probably be doing a greater service to yourself brushing up on your form alongside her."

" _Hey_." He shook their hands apart and reached around to pinch whatever flesh he could reach in retaliation, and Haru snapped a hand down to fend him off. "My form is _flawless_."

Haru found a hold about his wrist, tightening on a pressure point. "How long, I wonder, before she can take you?"

"Low blow, Nanase." He scrambled to pull himself free, nearly falling off the mattress as they wrestled for dominance, but Haru gave in far too quickly, flopping onto his back while Rin straddled him with both hands pinned. "Maybe I should oversee her training myself."

"And leave the training of the Shatterdome's future Fightmaster in the hands of someone who can't remember the final five Bushido movements half the time?"

"'Scuse me? I believe you mean the Shatterdome's future ace Ranger, kicking Kaiju ass and taking names."

"Fightmaster."

"Ranger."

" _Fightmaster._ "

"How about I push her towards a career in the Kwoon if you agree to instate Steak Saturdays?"

Haru lifted a knee, laying it gently against Rin's crotch in threat. "How about you push her towards a career in the Kwoon, period?"

"That's _not_ how negotiations work, Nanase," Rin teased, slipping back off of him to avoid any potential damage to delicate bits as he flopped down on the mattress next to Haru. He sighed deeply, staring up at the ceiling. "...So this is it, huh?"

"I guess..." He felt the mattress shift as Haru turned his head to stare at him. "...I thought you wanted this."

"I wanted her to be prepared; doesn't mean I have to like it." He allowed himself a leer. "I _want_ you to wear clothes and not get courtmartialed for indecent exposure; doesn't mean I have to like it." This time, it was Haru who pinched him. "Ow!"

"I'm being serious."

"And I'm trying to keep this as _non_ -serious as possible. Because if I stop to think about what's next, what we have to..." He felt a lump rising in his throat and closed his eyes, slowing his breathing. "...I can't be serious about this. Not yet. Let me pretend a little longer?"

Haru didn't respond, but he didn't refuse either. Instead, he changed the subject—to something equally distasteful. "...Yamazaki's transport has been scheduled; I heard the airstrip commander mention it to the Marshal."

"One less thing to worry about, then."

"You think he'll talk?"

Rin shrugged. "Dunno, but I suppose the Marshal doesn't. Maybe they paid him off." They hadn't, Rin knew; Sousuke was too straight-laced to take a bribe. 

Haru made a non-commital noise, then softly prodded, "...Do you think he'll be okay?"

And Rin knew he wasn't just talking about whether or not he needed to watch his back or risk getting knocked off by the Marshal's assasination squad. He hadn't had a chance to speak to Sousuke alone since the ordeal, and even when he'd caught his eye as they'd climbed out of the Pons units, nodding his gratitude, all Sousuke had done was glance away, body language clearly uncomfortable. No, he wasn't going to be okay. But 'not okay' seemed to be the status quo these days. He snorted ruefully, "Would _you_ be okay? If it were Tachibana you lost, and then thought you'd found again, only to realize it was just a stranger wearing his face?"

Haru didn't say anything at this, and after a few moments' silence had passed, Rin wondered if he'd actually drifted off, before an arm reached over his chest to draw Rin into a tight hug as Haru held him close for comfort against the hypothetical, expression closed off and disturbed.

* * *

"Here. I hear it gets a little chilly in Anchorage."

Sousuke fumbled with the item he'd just been tossed—nearly dropping what turned out to be a pair of wadded up wool-lined snow gloves. He waved them with a tight smile. "Thanks."

Around them, PPDC soldiers were scurrying to load luggage onto huge pallets that were being carted into the plane, and Rin wondered which of the plastic-wrapped mountains of trunks and suitcases held Sousuke's life for the next indefinite period of time. "Brought something to read on the flight?"

Sousuke snorted at this. "Yeah; the back of a box of sleeping pills. I hate flying." Rin wondered if this was something the other Rin would've remembered, or if maybe this was new information, all his own, that he could keep for himself and not have to feel like he was only the back-up Matsuoka reminding Sousuke of what he lost. 

The departure bay was bustling with activity and shouts and announcements, but silence still stretched between the two of them. A week on, and they still hadn't had time to really talk about what had happened—or rather, they'd neither one of them _made_ time, as they'd finally done exactly what the Marshal had asked and avoided each other altogether. Still, this would be the last time they saw each other for at leat a few years, if not forever, depending on how the war went, and Rin felt like he owed it to his original to see the boy's best friend off and end things on decent terms.

"...Thank you, again. I never really said it before, and I...wasn't really grateful for it at the time, I think. But I am now. So thanks, for butting in and lending a hand."

"...I guess a backhanded thank you is better than nothing." The words sounded bitter, but his tone was light. "...You're welcome." He swallowed a lump, glancing around the bay, before he added, "...I won't out you. The Marshal gave me a talking to, but even if he hadn't...I wouldn't. You're doing your thing here, have your family and your job, and...whatever you think of me, or however I put my foot in my mouth...just, I wouldn't ruin that for you."

Rin wondered if that reaction was influenced by the person whose face he wore—but decided against looking the gift horse in the mouth. He nodded his gratitude. "Then, thank you. Again."

Sousuke returned the nod, distracting himself with more glancing around the bay to affect disinterest, before drawing closer and dropping his voice so low, Rin could barely catch it. "Can you...can I ask something, though?" When Rin didn't object, he continued, "I mean, I know Rin—I know he's...gone. But—" He took a breath, like he was working himself up to something. "Was it bad?" And his voice faltered a bit on the end, as he cut himself off quickly before he embarrassed himself further.

Rin watched him, brows drawn and heart pounding, and he wondered if Haru could feel this now—feel Rin breaking inside all over again. Sousuke was standing here, a bag slung over his shoulder and dark circles beneath his eyes like he hadn't slept properly since learning the truth, and yet still he wanted _more_. And Rin desperately wanted to give him something good, _anything_ to help him move on. If that were even possible. "...Do you really want to know?"

"I'm asking, aren't I?" Sousuke returned sharply, a stubborn tone in his voice.

Rin pursed his lips firmly. "...I don't want to tell you."

"Don't want to—Why _not_?" He snorted derisively. "More secrets?"

Rin wished it were more secrets, wished he could hide behind the orders of a Marshal he really didn't want to piss off so soon after agreeing to accept his leash. He wished he could tell Sousuke that it was classified, and he wasn't at liberty to divulge details about the Kaiju cloning process. Instead, though, he gave Sousuke his last truth: "No...I just don't want to see you any sadder."

Sousuke's jaw firmed, but his voice had a quaver to it as he bit out, "I'm not a crybaby like—you." Rin smiled sadly to himself, but Sousuke blessedly let the matter drop, and moments later, a voice crackled over the loudspeaker directing all personnel assigned to the transport to the boarding doors. "...That's me."

"Wait—" Rin stopped him with a hand on his arm, immediately releasing it when Sousuke froze in shock at the brazen move. "Sorry, just..." He brought the hand to his neck to keep from making their goodbye any more awkward. "I wanted to see...if you'd do something for me."

Sousuke raked a glance over him warily, but allowed, "...Try me."

He licked his lips. "Once you're on the outside again—if you have time, up there in the ice and snow and all... Would you mind looking up his parents? Matsuoka's." Sousuke's brows drew together in confusion, and Rin pressed, "Just—I wanna know if they're okay? That they've moved on? Seeing you, getting to know you... He had good people who cared about him, and I'd hate to think..."

"...That they threw their lives away waiting for a ghost to come back to them?" Sousuke finished morbidly, a thin smile on his lips. "...I'll think about it. No promises." Which meant he would; he was a good guy, an honorable guy. He wouldn't let anyone else go through what he had, not now, knowing the truth.

Rin just nodded, though, and another announcement urged Sousuke on his way. "...See you around."

"Yeah." Sousuke adjusted the fit of his pack, settling it on his good shoulder, and turned toward the boarding area—before pausing, seeming to consider something, and holding out a fist. "...Here."

"...Huh?" Rin stared at the extended fist, then glanced up in confusion before hesitantly extending his own. 

He proved too slow, though, and Sousuke huffed softly in irritation and quickly bumped their fists together, giving a casual parting salute as he made for the scrum of passengers waiting to board and disappeared into the crowd.


	10. Chapter 10

The arrivals bay was alive with activity—sparks flying from catwalks high overhead as workers saw to Jaeger repairs, troops of recruits jogging by in formation with an officer barking orders to simultaneously encourage and discourage, and pallet carts being wheeled around in droves as soldiers scrambled to unload the hulking C-1 that had just pulled into the bay, expelling its passengers into the fracas.

Sousuke had learned through trial and error to travel light these days; the twin trunks and shoulder pack carry-on he’d hauled up to Anchorage had been traded in for a heavy-duty duffel and a rolling cart, and he took a moment to pause, after picking up his luggage, to take in the sights and sounds around him.

The Tokyo Shatterdome was not much changed after five years—it still smelled of grease and oil and diesel fuel and the sharp salty breeze from the bay not far off, and his arrival here on layover between Anchorage and Osaka was met with far less fanfare than his initial visit had received. He was just another PPDC Ranger ( _ex-_ Ranger) passing through on his way to a cushy academic position at the Osaka Shatterdome.

He didn’t much mind the transfer; he’d done his time in Anchorage and even come to enjoy the lectures he’d been tasked to deliver (coupled with dire warnings not to ape his own foolhardy efforts to take on Kaiju alone), and at least this way, he still got to be involved in educating a new generation of Rangers, even if he’d rather be out there on the front lines with them. But if one surgery and two years of physical therapy hadn’t repaired the damage he’d taken to his shoulder, nothing was going to help.

He huffed softly to himself, adjusting his grip on his pack, and reached into his jacket pocket for his orders—he was supposed to report to the housing authority for temporary quarters, as the next transport down to Osaka wasn’t scheduled for another few days, but shamefully, his sense of direction was quite honestly _shit_. With one hand, he carefully unfolded the carbon paper, smoothing its edges as he squinted to make out the tiny scrawled characters—

“ _Sou-chan_?!” His squealed name was his only warning before a recruit slammed into him bodily, fingers curling in the thick fabric of his jacket to shake him violently. “ _Ohmygod_ , you’re _back_!”

He struggled to keep his stance, nearly toppling over, and his duffel dropped to the ground as he shoved the recruit roughly away, snapping, “Oi, watch where you’re going, soldier!” He didn’t like to pull rank—it seemed stupid; if you were worth your rank, you didn’t need to hide behind it—but he’d just stepped out of the freezing belly of a C-1 on a too-long flight and really wanted to collapse onto a proper cot right about now. He couldn’t deal with startstruck newbies and Ranger groupies until he’d at least had a good night’s rest and a nice long shower, in no particular order.

“Still so grumpy!” came the giggled reply, but the recruit nevertheless took a measured step back to give him breathing room, and after adjusting the lapels on his jacket with a frown, he took in his assailant—

She wore faded, hand-me-down fatigues that contrasted starkly with her fresh face and the smart bun she had her hair pulled back into, and her eyes sparkled with unabashed glee as she actively leaned in, peering up into Sousuke’s face. She practically vibrated with energy, dancing from toe to toe in her boots, until she finally erupted, unable to contain herself any further. “Oh Papa and Daddy will be _so excited_ you’re back! They were out on a scheduled survey around the bay this morning, but they docked a good hour ago, and—“ She paused, growing pensive as her eyes took on a faraway look. “—and Daddy’s back in the Kwoon now, probably kicking Papa’s butt in a cool-down spar! C’mon!”

Not waiting for him to get a word in edgewise, she snapped a hand out with reflexes Sousuke would’ve killed for, gripping him tight about the wrist and tugging insistently as she marched them for the nearest exit, and Sousuke nearly tripped over his own legs before he found his footing. The recruit glanced back with a frown, then rolled her eyes at the display, and Sousuke mutely let himself be dragged along like a reluctant hound on a leash, turning her rapid-fire explanation over in his mind.

“Wait—’Papa’…’Daddy’…” And then it hit him like a bag of Kaiju shit: “ _Gou-chan_?!”

She ignored him. “Oh you missed so much! Why were you gone so long? Well whatever, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause you’re back now! And ooh we should totally spend some time in the Simulator together! The Marshal said he’d give anyone who could beat my score a whole one-rank pay raise!” She flashed a peace sign, wiggling her fingers. “Seventy-two kills out of seventy drops— _two_ double events! That’s 103%! I even beat Papa! Oh!” She covered her mouth, expression stricken. “Your shoulder! Oh gosh, I totally forgot! That was really rude of me huh? Sorry, I just kind of babble when I’m excited. Daddy says I can’t possibly be related to him because no child of his would talk that much—he’s so weird!”

Sousuke let her stream of conversation flow over him, all but openly gaping at the young woman still resolutely dragging him along. “You’re…you’re Gou-chan…?” he repeated dumbly, trying to reinforce the realization—and failing. “But…you’re…”

“Hm?” She glanced over her shoulder, bun wobbling unsteadily where one of the pins had fallen out, and he took a moment to get a good look at the recruit he was shadowing.

Her face was leaner, having long since lost the endearing chub of childhood, and she’d sprouted up nearly a meter, but her form was as fit as any other PPDC soldier, perhaps even a bit more toned—Nanase’s doing?—and she wore the colors of Tokyo’s units with a name tag stitched over her breast that read in blocky roman letters _G. MATSUOKA_.

“You’re Gou-chan…” he breathed, as it finally sank in that, however strange it seemed, this was indeed _that_ Gou-chan.

Her brows lifted as her lips quirked into a smile, but rather than tease him further, she just gave his wrist a squeeze before letting it drop back to his side, offering a simple, “Welcome back, Sou-chan.”

* * *

He supposed it was just as well that Gou was guiding him to the Kwoon—else it would’ve likely taken him hours to find the place again, even with the Shatterdome’s layout keyed into his tablet. But she navigated the maze of corridors with the ease of one well-accustomed to the route, and he suspected that this was far from her first time walking these halls.

Her bun bobbed with each light step, stark contrast to Sousuke plodding along behind in poorly disguised awkward discomfort. Her babbling had eased in pace but not in fervor as she regaled Sousuke with what sounded like _literally_ everything he’d missed since boarding for Anchorage five years prior—so it was with no small measure of relief that they finally rounded a corner and met the familiar double doors leading into the Kwoon, a peaceful Buddhist mantra scrawled on a scroll hanging overhead as they passed through that seemed entirely at-odds with the nature of their war.

The front room was occupied by a class of seasoned cadets huffing and puffing under the watchful eye of a sub-instructor, and Gou jogged over, beckoning Sousuke to follow, as she questioned softly so as not to interrupt the lesson, “The Fightmaster?”

The officer gave no indication he’d heard her, only nodding subtly toward the far wall, where sets of doors led to private training rooms. Gou nodded her thanks, then made for the most distant set of doors. Sousuke eyed the instructor warily, wondering what he made of Gou and the freedom with which she marched about the Kwoon, but the officer’s attention was back on his cadets, his tone sharp and stinging as he berated an unfortunate in the front row for slouching.

“You call him ‘Fightmaster’?”

She nodded. “I’m not officially related to him, so I have to make sure to address him by his title when I’m out.”

Understandable, he supposed. “And…Rin?”

“‘Uncle Matsuoka’ now.”

“ _Uncle_?”

“Don’t ask,” she sighed fondly, shaking her head as she slid an ID card through the reader bolted next to the set of doors. There came a grinding _click_ of a lock releasing, and Gou heaved the latch to throw the door open just wide enough for the both of them to slip through—no easy feat with the luggage Sousuke still hauled around. Once safely through, with the door shut behind them, Gou called out, “Papa? Daddy? You dead yet?” as they cautiously stepped into the empty front foyer.

Soft huffing and _whap_ s of blows landing drew them further inside to where the pair were still sparring, their bodies shifting and sliding across the matting with such speed and grace they almost seemed able to _predict_ where the next blow would land.

Gou sighed with vocal annoyance. “Gosh, still? Daddy, wrap it up—Sou-chan came to visit!”

“Sou-chan?” Rin’s head snapped around, searching, and Nanase landed a sharp uppercut to his chin, sending him staggering. “Fucking—time out, geez!” he snarled, massaging his jaw and placing space between them lest Nanase try to get another dirty hit in. “Asshole, you had plenty of warning to hold your punches!”

Nanase just shrugged, unfazed. “What kind of a cool-down would it be if I did that?” His gaze then snapped over Rin’s shoulder, latching onto Sousuke, and he felt a shudder ripple down his spine, like Nanase was trying to get a read on him. He never _had_ liked the guy very much. “…Yamazaki.”

Sousuke nodded his greeting in return. “Nanase.”

Rin twisted around properly this time, face lighting up as he jogged over, and all of a sudden, Sousuke remembered why he’d made himself keep any exchanges between the two of them to cursory e-mails and the occasional text. There was always that brief flicker of recognition, thinking _Ah, it’s Rin_ before reality came crashing back down to remind him that no, this person looked like Rin, sounded like Rin, even _acted_ like Rin, but he wasn’t Rin. Not the Rin Sousuke wanted him to be, at least.

Gou dug into a duffel bag on the floor, drawing out a sports towel and tossing it for Rin to catch. “Thanks—when’d you get in? You should’ve said you were coming!”

“I…didn’t think about it; my schedule’s been kinda hectic,” he offered awkwardly, groping for any excuse he could get his hands on it. “Sorry,” he added, wondering if his discomfort was as obvious on his features as it felt.

Rin just waved him off, unconcerned, and let his eyes drift down to the rolling bag at Sousuke’s side. “What’s with all the luggage? Miss us so much this was your first stop?”

“I…got waylaid,” he explained, nodding in Gou’s direction.

“You— _Gou_ ,” he huffed, warning with a frown, but she just shrugged innocently, so Rin settled for apologizing in her stead. “Sorry, she’s just always been kinda fond of you…” He mopped his face with the towel. “Lemme get changed, then I’ll walk you to the housing authority and help you find your quarters.”

“Ooh, I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” Gou offered enthusiastically, but Rin cut her off with a knowing look.

“You will _not_ —you’ve got Kwoon practice with Haru. I’ll see that he gets settled in.” He slapped her on the back to shove her in Nanase’s direction. “Go on, there’s an ass-kicking with your name on it just waiting.”

“But—” she tried to protest, until Nanase jerked his head, beckoning her over, and her shoulders slumped in defeat as she dragged herself across the matting, her fate seemingly accepted.

Sousuke felt a twinge of pity—he’d only seen Nanase and Rin sparring on a handful of occasions, but it was clear from the display just now that Nanase’s position as Fightmaster was still well-earned—until Rin snorted softly beside him, grin going goofy and fond. “She complains now, but _he’ll_ have to be the one to suggest they call it a day.” He elbowed Sousuke gently. “I think she mostly just wants to play catch-up.”

“I’m not sure my ears can take it…” Sousuke muttered, and this time Rin gave a light bark of laughter, grabbing the handle of Sousuke’s bag and rolling it towards the door for him.

Once safely out in the relative privacy of the empty hallway, Rin leading the way, Sousuke glanced back toward the Kwoon warily and muttered with no small amount of awe, “So…that really _is_ Gou-chan? I mean, I know kids grow quickly, but _shit_ …”

“Mmhmm~” Rin hummed, face still flushed and hair dark with sweat. “She’s been growing like a weed—but Amakata-sensei thinks she’s leveling out now, says she’s got the telomeres of a twenty-year-old and should age more-or-less normally from now on.”

“Seriously? That’s—geez, a five-to-one growth ratio?” He frowned at the thought, about to ask if Rin had grown that fast himself, given they shared a genetic makeup—but that would ruin the mood and set a dour note for their reunion, so he kept his curiosity to himself for the time being.

“Yup.” They passed another pair of officers, keeping conversation to a minimum until out of earshot. “Just be glad you missed her teenage years.” He shuddered. “Not pretty. If I’d known what raising a kid entailed, I’d…well, I dunno what I would’ve done. But at least I would’ve been better prepared for it.”

“I don’t have any experience with the matter myself, but I understand that not knowing what the process entails is pretty much par for the course with raising a kid.”

“Touche.” Rin punched a button on the wall they’d drawn up to, calling the elevator, and when it arrived with a soft _ding_ , they boarded. In the silence of the empty car that lifted them back up a few levels, Rin dared a glance up at Sousuke out of the corner of his eye. “…So how long will you be around?”

Sousuke shrugged. “A few days? They’ve gotta refuel the transport, get it checked over by a maintenance team, and then wait for a promising weather report. Not more than a week, though, I’d say.”

Rin nodded. “Well, the three of us hit the natatorium every Saturday, and we do Mackerel Fridays still, so…” He trailed off, and as it wasn’t clear if any particular offer was being made, Sousuke just grunted his understanding, grateful beyond measure when the elevator doors slid open to reveal a crowded hallway that meant they had to watch their words. The excitement of reunion had faded, now, and they could only share so much small talk before it became clear that they were probably both going to be avoiding talking about certain aspects of their relationship.

But Sousuke didn’t want to bring it up—not now, at least, he was too damn tired—and Rin seemed to be walking on eggshells wherever he stepped, so when they came to a stop before the door marked ‘Housing Authority’, he just nodded his thanks and offered a quick _See you around_.

He gripped the handle, suddenly desperate to place even a single pane of glass between himself and the stranger who wore his dead best friend’s face—when a hand on his shoulder stopped him just short of yanking the door open and throwing himself over the threshold. “…It’s good that you’re back. I’m glad, for what it’s worth.”

Well, that made one of them.

* * *

Temporary as they were, the unit he was assigned was less than ideal—the bathroom was a communal shower area down the hall, and his cot smelled oddly like strawberries, leaving Sousuke to wonder what fouler odor the sickly sweet scent was meant to mask. But he’d slept in worse, and these quarters were a step up from the conditions he’d had to endure as a recruit, with no privacy to speak of and only the sounds of his bunkmates’ snoring to lull him to sleep.

He didn’t bother unpacking, once he finally found his room, just tossed his rolling suitcase into the corner and made a pillow of his duffel—and in no time at all, he was dead to the world.

When he finally roused, the digital clock on the fiberboard bedside table let him know it was well past dinnertime, which meant that even if the Mess was still open, they wouldn’t have much left worth serving. But he still had a few energy bars tucked inside his duffel, and there was bound to be a vending machine or three somewhere on the premises. It wasn’t a feast, but he wouldn’t starve.

He pondered a cool shower to clear the cobwebs from his mind, but he’d just be turning in again in another few hours, so he decided to leave it for the morning. He’d wake early—maybe hit the natatorium and get a few easy laps in—

Shit. Stepping into the natatorium was just _begging_ to run into Rin and Nanase, wasn’t it? He grumbled under his breath, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his palms. No natatorium jaunts, then. No Kwoon, either. Maybe the gym, instead.

He slumped back onto the lumpy mattress, staring up at the pipework threading across the ceiling like crude industrial filigree. “…What the hell am I doing here.”

He could’ve taken the transport that stopped off in Sapporo—sure, there was always the chance he might get grounded there for a couple of weeks if a late-season snowstorm hit, but better to go stir-crazy inside the thick walls of Chitose Air Base than to be back _here_ , tip-toeing around Rin and Nanase and Gou and _Rin_. But he’d opted instead to take the flight that would land him in Tokyo for an indeterminate amount of time—and he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d done so.

It wasn’t that he held any sort of grudge against Rin—quite the contrary, when he’d had no reason to suspect otherwise, he’d enjoyed spending time with the person he’d thought was his best friend, come back from the dead. He’d said everything Rin would say, made all the jokes Rin would’ve made, been everything Sousuke guessed a clone was supposed to be.

But he wasn’t Rin, and until Sousuke could get it straight in his mind that this was someone new, no more Rin than a twin brother, he wouldn’t ever quite feel comfortable in his presence. Five years hadn’t done much to help that happen, though, so Sousuke wasn’t holding his breath. Maybe he’d thought—hoped—that by forcing himself to come back, to face what he’d lost here and finally _accept_ it, he could move on. If so, he certainly wasn’t off to a good start, and perhaps this had been a fool’s errand to begin with. It was probably best for everyone involved if he made no waves during his layover, so that he might slip away unnoticed when it was time to move on.

His stomach growled in warning, and Sousuke smiled to himself—well, he could at least sneak out long enough to see if he could still grab a bite from the Mess. Maybe there were kitchen workers still on duty he could try and charm out of a few dinner rolls.

The communal areas of the Shatterdome were starting to wind down for the evening. A facility as large as this never quite went offline, and the Jaeger Bay was always brightly lit and bustling with activity, but most recruits and officers would be spending their few hours of free time in their bunks or taking advantage of recreational facilities, not milling about the Mess—which was why Sousuke wasn’t expecting to find Gou occupying one of the communal tables lining the far wall, hunched over her tablet and chewing on the butt of a stylus with her features screwed up in frustration.

He kept his distance, watching her with all the tense wariness of a prey animal spotting its predator, but when he ran first into the edge of one of the tables and then knocked down a stack of chairs a Mess worker had just arranging, it became impossible to make himself invisible, and he winced inwardly at her excited chirp of, “Sou-chan!” half-fearing he was about to be tackled once more.

But she just beckoned him over with a wave of her hand, and realizing he’d only hurt her feelings if he overtly ignored her, he wandered over, scratching the back of his neck in irritation.

“That was graceful of you,” she teased, gesturing at the hastily restacked chairs with her stylus. “You should really watch where you’re going.”

“Day 1 and I’m already getting lectured? I thought I was done with that when I graduated the Academy.” She grinned, but said no more, and as he’d committed himself to at least a short conversation now, he slumped into one of the chairs next to her, grimacing when his stomach picked that moment to remind him it was in want of filling.

“You missed dinner,” Gou pointed out primly, and Sousuke shrugged off her concern.

“I’m not gonna topple over in the next heavy breeze just because I miss one meal; I’ve got some energy bars back in my room.”

She leaned off to the side, digging around in a satchel hanging off the back of her chair until she drew out a pair of _onigiri_ , and placed them squarely on the tabletop before him. “Daddy always gets peckish after a spar, so I make sure to keep some on hand. Go on.”

He was about to demur, but she’d already turned her attention back to her tablet, expression serious again as she mouthed something to herself, fingers tracing a line of text on the screen.

Deciding he’d better do something to silence his stomach before it interrupted again, he grabbed one of the rice balls—if it had been meant for Nanase, that probably made it a mackerel one—and began to unwrap it, hoping small talk with Gou wasn’t nearly as awkward or like pulling teeth as it had been with Rin. “…So how was practice with Nanase?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Same old, same old. Best three out of five and then an hour wasted going over the Jaeger Bushido which I’ve known since I was, like, _two_.”

“Aren’t you only five or something?”

“I just turned six two months ago, thank-you-very-much,” she sniffed haughtily, but then relaxed into a tight smile. “…All right, so it doesn’t sound as impressive coming from me as it might from someone normal.”

“You’re normal,” he insisted defensively, taking issue with her self-deprecating tone that sounded a little too much like Rin for his ears, and then added, “…ish.”

“You were always so nice to me, Sou-chan~” she grinned, and with no appropriate response to that, Sousuke took a bite of his _onigiri_. “It’s not as much fun with Daddy anymore, ‘cause I know his regimens inside and out, and Papa hasn’t been much of a challenge lately.”

“Maybe he’s holding back with you?”

She tapped her temple. “No way; his pride wouldn’t let him, for one, and Daddy taught me all his weak points, for another.”

“That sounds like cheating.”

“Daddy says it’s just Papa bleeding over into him and that he can’t be held responsible.”

“Now _that_ sounds like Rin’s influence,” Sousuke snorted softly, the words leaving his lips before he had a chance to consider their implication—and blessedly, Gou didn’t remark on his slip-up. This was why coming back to this Shatterdome had been a terrible idea. He cleared his throat, changing the subject. “You mentioned earlier they were doing some survey mission? You mean they took a Jaeger out?”

She nodded, and if it was classified information, she clearly didn’t seem to mind sharing. “They mostly do recon on the Breach, but they’re on the sortie shortlist too, and sometimes they get tasked to run support for the starting teams.” She chuckled to herself, scribbling on the tablet screen as she shook her head. “You should’ve seen Marshal Sasabe’s face when they brought down a Category IV aiming for Okinawa all on their own last fall! I think he wanted to _kiss_ Papa!”

Sousuke could recall a time when the Marshal would have been more likely to _kill_ Rin, so he apparently had missed more than he’d thought. “…Nice to see they worked out the kinks with their Drift.” He took another bite, speaking around the mouthful, “What about you? How many kaiju heads adorn _your_ walls?”

Her scribbling stopped abruptly, and the smile quickly faded from her features, like a plug had been pulled, instead being replaced with a frustrated frown. “…I don’t pilot.”

Sousuke blinked, letting her words sink in. "Wh—don't pilot?" He swallowed thickly, nearly choking on the mouthful. "Why the hell not?" He gestured vaguely back towards the Kwoon wing. "You were going on and on about how you beat Rin's score in the Simulator and routinely kick his ass in the Kwoon and that you've got the Bushido down pat."

She sighed, dropping her stylus onto the tabletop and rolling it back and forth with a finger, chin propped up in one hand. "The best scores in the whole Academy system don't mean anything if you can't find a partner to Drift with..."

Oh; well that was something else. He peeled back the packaging on his _onigiri_ further, nibbling distractedly. "...Not compatible, huh?" It happened, sometimes; relatively often, in fact. Finding someone you had half-decent sync ratios with was a task in and of itself—and finding someone you synced well enough with to actually support a stable Drift, one strong enough to drive a Jaeger... Well that was even more difficult. "Hey—it's one Shatterdome. The odds of finding your partner here are pretty astronomical, if you ask me—"

"It's not that," she protested, pounding her fist lightly on the table in frustration. "It's...I dunno, Papa says it's called Drifter Bends? That...because of what I am, because of him—that it's part of who we are. That people can't Drift with us without getting hurt..." She pouted sourly, "'S not fair he gets to Drift with Daddy and I get stuck doing..." She made a face. "Translation."

"Translation?" He peered at her tablet more closely now, realizing he must have interrupted her while she was working on something. "Translating what?"

She slid the tablet across the table, waving at the screen. "Anteversian transmissions; they can decrypt them, for the most part—they just can't understand them. And since Papa and I are the only ones who know Anteversian, and Papa's usually out doing runs in Omega Free..." She sighed long-sufferingly, letting her head flop down to _thunk_ against the table. "So that leaves me."

Sousuke frowned at the screen, which included an audio playback button and an unfinished translation. He brushed a finger over the playback button, and soft audio began to emanate from a pair of earbuds hooked into the audio jack. Gou smiled tiredly, lifting one to Sousuke's ear, but the audio was utterly incomprehensible—mostly hisses and clicks and throat-singing. "...You _understand_ this?" A nod. "But—how? It's..." She lifted a brow pointedly, and realization washed over him. "Oh...right. Rin."

"I think he just didn't want to get stuck with it," she said bitterly, reaching for her water bottle and knocking back a swig. "So he pawned it off on his infant daughter, the cur." Sousuke could picture Rin weaseling out of deskwork all too easily, and a smile came to his lips at the thought. "...Oh good."

"Hm?"

"Nothing, just...you haven't really smiled once since you got here. I was kinda worried you weren't that glad to be back."

There went any hope that talking with Gou wouldn't prove as awkward and uncomfortable as talking to Rin had. "It's...complicated," he evaded. 

"Mmm," she hummed thoughtfully, clearly not about to drop the matter, and Sousuke attempted to change the subject again.

"So does it say anything interesting?"

"Does what?" She glanced down at the tablet. "Oh! The transmission? No, not really; or at least, nothing useful." She closed out of the application, bringing the home screen up again. "It takes forever for the technicians to decrypt the signal, and by the time they manange it, the information's months old. We've gotten some insight into their organization and military ranks, but if they're planning an invasion or anything like that...we'll probably learn about it six months after the entire human race has been enslaved." 

Sousuke smiled ruefully at the thought. "Seems a shame to waste years of training on such a cushy job, though."

"Right??" She threw her hands up, and Sousuke wondered if this was a frequent argument. "I mean, I'd be happy to just hop in a Conn Pod and drive a Jaeger out into the Bay myself, but Papa says it'd raise too many flags and Mako-chan says there's no way they could cover up a solo pilot, that the whole LOCCENT team and—"

"Wait— _solo_ pilot?" He jerked a thumb towards the Jaeger bay. "You mean—driving a Jaeger _alone_?"

She nodded, eyes bright. "I've been practicing! Mako-chan secures me a two-hour block in the Pons room every Wednesday night, and I'm doing Simulator runs at 120% AI load!" She beamed proudly. "He wrote a whole new program for my sixth birthday, just so I could practice on an overloaded Simulator to make sure I'm ready if I ever get the chance to work in a real Conn Pod!"

"He _what_?" Exposing the brain to such a neural load wasn't just unwise, it was downright _dangerous_ , and for Gou to be hopping in a Pons unit under those conditions for two-hour periods was... "But—I mean, you ought to be in the _medical bay_ , not..."

"Translating?" she finished, rolling her eyes fondly. "Gosh, Sou-chan. So dramatic!" She shrugged. "Daddy doesn't really like it—thinks it'll get me in trouble, if people realize what I can do—but I'm careful! Honest!"

"I can't believe I'm saying this—but I'm with Nanase." He had faith that the Chief Analyst—he was pretty sure that was who 'Mako-chan' was, at any rate—knew what he was doing, as far as ensuring her safety inside the Pons unit, but that didn't extend to her life under the roof of the Shatterdome. Sooner or later, someone was going to notice her late-night Pons sessions, or come across this program of Tachibana's buried in a log folder, and then questions were going to pop up. Maybe she was prepared to deal with them, maybe she wasn't, but she seemed to be playing far too fast and loose with her abilities without proper supervision.

She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. "Then what would you have me do? Sit here poring over dusty old transmissions that aren't _actually_ useful? I could be out there _helping_! Like, _really_ helping!" She gestured towards the Jaeger bay. "There's at least _three_ Mark 3s sitting out there right now, in various states of disrepair, that could be fighting-ready in two, maybe three months! Sooner if the Marshal wanted it!"

"But then they'd have to come up with some story about how you're Solo Piloting, and then there'd probably be _testing_ , detailed brain scans, all kinds of stuff I'm sure your Marshal doesn't want the PPDC higher-ups to know about." Her stubborn silence said he'd hit the nail on the head. It was understandable she wanted to do something; Sousuke was having a hard enough time accepting that he couldn't be out in the field anymore, and he had a legitimate excuse. How much more difficult must it be for someone so capable and powerful to sit idly by and just watch? Especially when her parents were already out there daily, making sweeps of the Breach and now the first line of defense?

"I know..." she allowed at length, flicking her stylus across the table and watching it tumble onto the floor. "Just—I wish I could just find...I dunno, a dummy partner! Someone to _sit there_ in the Conn Pod next to me and—I mean, they'd obviously know I wasn't Drifting with them, but Daddy and Papa pull it off, so maybe...I could find..." She trailed off, mouth slightly agape, and she gasped softly as she whirled on Sousuke. " _Ohmygod_ Sou-chan—you! You you you! You could do it!"

"I could—what?"

"Be my dummy partner! Sit in the Conn Pod and pretend to Drift with me! Because you already know everything, and you've got years of experience, but you can't pilot yourself anymore, right??" And any tact she might have retained flew out the window. "It'll be perfect—we'll get the same team as the one that oversees Daddy and Papa, have Mako-chan on the readouts so no one gets suspicious, and then I can just charge into the fray and start kicking Kaiju butt while you..." She wrinkled her nose in thought. "I dunno. Pick our music? Something _epic_."

She began babbling to herself excitedly, drawing up a notepad app on her tablet that a closer glance revealed to be a list of potential Jaeger names—and he was sure that no history books were going to write about _Maximo Biceps_ heroically bringing down a Class IV. Crap, he needed to stop this before she got her hopes up. "Wait—Gou-chan, _no_. You know I can't—my shoulder's shot, I'd be useless in a Conn Pod."

"I told you, you could pick our music! And maybe help navigate?"

"I couldn't navigate my way out of a paper bag," he muttered, too low for her to hear. "I said I _can't_. I'm on my way to Osaka—I've got classes starting in two weeks." He tapped his own tablet, sitting in his jacket pocket. "Got my syllabus all planned out and everything."

She raised a brow, dubious. "...You do?"

He felt a bead of sweat form on his temple. "Well—I mean, I'm still working on it. But the point is I have _responsibilities_. I appreciate the situation you're stuck in, and I sympathize, but..." He trailed off when her face fell, disappointment washing over her fine features and settling in a dark cloud over her brow. He wasn't lying—he _did_ sympathize. But he couldn't just drop everything and hop into a Conn Pod with a total stranger, even if he wanted to. This wasn't a solution, or even a plan—it was a _scheme_ , a way to pull the wool over the eyes of an entire Shatterdome just so Gou could run off to play Jaegers and Kaiju. She was _six_ , not the twenty years she looked, and she didn't appreciate the _seriousness_ of being a pilot, didn't understand what—

"...Papa gave me his memories, you know."

Sousuke didn't follow. "Rin...? What memories?"

She took a breath, fingers drumming along the table now that she'd done away with the stylus. "Before I started Pons training, when I told him I was serious about wanting to become a Pilot...he said I needed to know what I'd be fighting. So he showed me—he showed me everything; how he was made, what he had to do, how he met Daddy...how it nearly ruined him." 

_How he was made_. That stuck in Sousuke's chest, and it seemed that even if he wanted to avoid such topics, they were going to seek him out regardless. "...Seems like heavy stuff for a kid."

"It was—and he could've waited until later, if he'd wanted to. But he told me that he decided to give it to me then...because I needed to start my training with my commitment clear in mind, so that I'd always have my goal in my sights, never forget why I wanted to Pilot."

The _onigiri_ sat queasily in his stomach now. "...And why was that? Why'd you decide you wanted to Pilot Jaegers?"

"Because," she reasoned simply, with all the easy understanding of a child and the firm conviction of someone thrice the age she seemed, "I wanted to protect the people I cared about. What other reason could there possibly be?" And she genuinely seemed to _mean_ it, not fathoming that anyone could pilot for fame or glory or revenge or any of a dozen other base reasons one might have for wanting to strap oneself into a tin can and march out to face down monsters. "Was it not the same for you? What did you Pilot for?"

"...For the wrong reasons," he allowed cagily, not wanting to get into this here—or anywhere, really. 

"Now you're just being evasive. I thought you hated secrets?"

"I hate them being kept from me; not keeping them myself."

"That's not fair."

"Life's not fair."

"No, it's not," she agreed with a soft smile, gaze drifting to his bad shoulder, and he knew she was manipulating him, felt just as he had when he'd entered the hall: like a prey animal in her sights, waiting for the final _pounce_. "But I bet you'd still like to make them pay, wouldn't you...? For taking him from you."

His frown deepened, and his pulse jumped at her offer. He was never going to get his revenge cloistered behind walls of concrete and rebar—but then, he wasn't supposed to. This was humanity's war, not his own personal mission for retribution. He shook his head resoluvely. "That's...you're not supposed...to bring emotions into the Drift."

"How fortunate, then," she grinned, with that same unsettling sharp-toothed leer Rin sported, "that you won't have to Drift with me."

* * *

It was three days later when Rin came knocking on his door, a soft, tentative rapping that he nearly missed over the faucet running as he brushed his teeth. He wished he could say the visit was a surprise—but two rejected dinner invitations and one awkward lap around the pool were clearly enough to get Rin's suspicions up, which meant the conversation he didn't want to have _period_ was about to be held while his mouth was foaming with toothpaste.

He rinsed his mouth out over the little sink in his room, gargling to remove the remainder of the foam, then mopped his face while motioning for Rin to have a seat—on the bed, as it turned out, since he had no other furniture. "...I saw the transport's scheduled to depart the day after tomorrow." Sousuke let the towel drape around his neck, keeping silent, and Rin added, "...And I noticed your name wasn't on the passenger manifest." He forced a tentative smile. "...Does that mean you're sticking around?"

"No," he was quick to correct, then added hastily at Rin's crestfallen expression, "I mean—not exactly."

"Not exactly..." Rin repeated, nodding to himself. "Does 'not exactly' mean 'just long enough to disappoint Gou with this dummy Drift she wants to try'?" Sousuke's frown must have come off hostile—and well, he kind of _hoped_ it did, because he didn't like the implication there—for Rin held his hands up. "Chill, I didn't mean it like that, more..." He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, a visual cue of his discomfort. "...She _really_ wants to Pilot. _Really_. And you're the first candidate to come along who ticks all the right boxes—privy to her history, believable as a copilot, built like a tank."

"Built like a what?"

Rin waved him off. "I think that last one's just her personal preference. The point is..." He brought his hands to his face, covering his mouth and inhaling deeply. "She's excited about this. Couldn't keep it from us if she _wanted_ to—Haru and I had to sit through a half-hour demonstration last night on her shortlist of Jaeger names. God, please don't let her choose _Abdominator_." Sousuke huffed a chuckle, despite himself, at Rin's dramatics. "It's never been closer to her than right now, in her eyes, and I know the Marshal hasn't signed off on it yet—know that's why you're not on that transport...because you're doing a dry run in the morning. But he's going to. Because she's gonna be fucking fantastic, and you're gonna...well, honestly I'm not sure what you're supposed to do."

"I've been instructed to prepare a 'kick-ass mixtape'."

"Yeah, well, don't screw it up—we're the ones who'll have to hear her moaning about it later." Sousuke reached out to swipe him lightly across the shoulder, and he feigned a pained _Ow!_ before the settled back into their respective corners. "He's gonna sign off on it, and then...then you'll either commit. Or you'll break her heart." He steeled his jaw, eyes going dark with gravity. "And I'm not gonna let you break her heart."

Sousuke felt a wave of unease ripple down his spine at the veiled threat, swallowing the hostile pride that wanted to surge up. "Oi, I know playing the 'protective father' might be something your romantic ass has always wanted to try—but you're blowing this out of proportion."

"Am I?"

" _Yeah_ ," he returned, more hotly than he might have if he'd stopped to choose his words more carefully, but he was through playing prey animal to another Matsuoka. "Break her heart? I might disappoint her, but you're being dramatic now—you act like I'm gonna go out of my way to..." He paused, frowning as he traced Rin's chain of thought. "...You think I'd do this on purpose? Build up her hopes only to tear them down? Because that's what you did to me?" Rin's stony silence was answer enough, and Sousuke _laughed_ , harsh and hurt. "You think I hate you, don't you? You think I haven't kept in touch because I've got some grudge against you, or that I avoid you because you disgust me or something?" He ran fingers through his hair, clutching his scalp in frustration. "Dammit—I don't know _what_ I feel. I don't. I'm confused and irritated and _sad_ beyond explanation still because it's just not _fair_ , everything that happened—but it's not hate." He forced himself to lock eyes with Rin, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "You didn't kill him, and it's not your fault you look like him. So why would I want to punish you?" His gaze fell away. "When you're all I have left of him..."

This wasn't how he'd wanted this conversation to go—there was far too much talking on his part, far too much emotion on both their parts. He just wanted to be able to skip this portion of the reconciliation and get back to the part where he could look at Rin and pretend this was his second chance, that everything wasn't _exactly_ the same, but this was still _Rin_ , in some form, and he got a do-over, after waiting so long. Pushing Rin away _hurt_ —so why did he keep doing it? Why couldn't he just, for once, let himself be happy? He could have his revenge—and Rin, too—if he wanted. Plus, it would make Gou happy.

It wasn't exactly a difficult choice to make. "...I'll take care of her," he reassured, certain that Rin would never be able to bring himself to request it.

But Rin just snorted incredulously. "I wasn't going to ask you to take care of her."

"No?"

Rin shook his head. "Nah; she'll probably be the one pulling your bacon from the fire."

And Sousuke supposed that that was fine too.

* * *

"Emergency lighting functioning…oxygen levels green…comms—"

_"Gou-chan, can you hear me? Hello?"_

__Sousuke grimaced. "—online, apparently..." Gou snorted beside him, waiting for a technician to finish clamping her helmet in place. "You'd think this was his first startup sequence."

"Cut Mako-chan some slack," she urged. "It's his first command post on a Jaeger mission."

"We're second-string back-up for a recon team; _and_ he's only in that 'command post' because the Marshal's overseeing the lead team."

_"I can hear you, you realize?"_

__"He's just jealous, Mako-chan, don't worry!" she called out, shooting Sousuke a frown, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head in poorly disguised amusement. " _What_?" she pressed.

"Nothing."

"Secrets, Sou-chan."

He tapped out a few commands on a touchscreen off to his side. "Boundaries, Gou-chan." 

"Well _now_ I'm curious. And I'll just keep bugging you until we reach the Breach, at this rate." Her raised brow and months of experience now told Sousuke that she wasn't kidding. "Well?"

"It's nothing—just, you have the weirdest family, the weirdest _life_ , period, and yet..."

"Yet...?" Her brows furrowed, wariness evident in her eyes, and Sousuke wondered if this was how Gou felt when she so often had the upper hand in their conversations. It was nice.

"And yet...you're so normal." He paused for effect, before adding, "...Ish."

Her grin was blinding, and she flexed her fingers, stretching her arms over her head to limber up. "Put some tunes on, Sou-chan. I need another head to mount on my wall!"


End file.
